


return again to me, like the bloom of cherry blossoms

by AFreeQueen



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Breaking Up & Making Up, Character Study, Death, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Goblin!Kiyoomi, Immortality, Immortals, Inspired by Goblin (K-drama), Loneliness, Longing, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mortality, POV Alternating, Pining, Reincarnation, Soulmates, Tags May Change, Temporary Amnesia, Time Skips, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, human!Atsumu
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28950918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFreeQueen/pseuds/AFreeQueen
Summary: A most lonesome and great Goblin meets his match in the form of a meager eighteen year old human he knows he cannot have.Sakusa Kiyoomi has lived over 900 years, almost all of which in isolation. In the modern century, when he happens upon a young mother on the brink of death, he makes the ultimate decision.Eighteen years later, it must be destiny that he runs into a shockingly familiar young man who will change his life forever.Through time and trial, sacrifice and determination, fate will test whether a mortal and a god can truly be together.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 71





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this story is based on the Korean drama known as Goblin/Guardian: The Lonely and Great God. I also totally recommend watching this drama as it's my favorite TV series as of yet. It's amazing and well worth the investment! Duh, otherwise I probably wouldn't be writing this fic. For some reason the characters really reminded me of SakuAtsu lol. To make this story original, though, I did change some plot lines and simplified some things, so if anyone's confused it's only based on the drama, not a rewrite of it, although the similarities will outweigh the differences.
> 
> Anyways, enough ranting, please enjoy!

Kiyoomi breathed out into the chilly, open night air. His eyes followed the condensed curlicues of his breath vanishing amongst the stars, dispersing like a curtain of smoke to avail the view of the glittering winter sky above. He wondered for a blind moment what those in the abyss above were doing. His eyes narrowed, staring up at the pale freckles upon a black canvas, once against cursing his greater gods. He hated them for condemning him to near mortality, aside from the sweet release of death offered as a parting gift from this place.

There was no end in sight for him, it seemed.

The screeching of tires below drew Kiyoomi's attention.

He glanced down from the building rooftop, taking in the prone form of a woman.

She lay distorted on the snowy parking lot ground. A growing puddle of crimson surrounded her, exacerbating the slowing down of the beat of her heart. She coughed weakly, wetly, the internal damage presenting itself to the outside world.

Ah, humanity. How fragile it was. At first, Kiyoomi was astonished by all the suffering he witnessed on Earth. It had been hard to watch; even the gods were not so cruel to each other as mortals were to one another. However, no matter how much he intervened, where he could whenever he could, suffering prevailed like a staunch virus, infecting individual humans and perpetuating the cycle of sick minds and covert crime.

After years on Earth, Kiyoomi had become numb to mankind's cries for help. What could he do? He was but a small, measly god. He wasn't like those above him, all powerful and able to change the narrative of time. Anguish and affliction were simple integrations in human DNA and their mortality. And Kiyoomi could not rewrite nature, even if he wanted to.

Kiyoomi tilted his head back, closing his eyes, letting his breath string out of him like cigarette smoke. _You can't save them all._ It was an unfortunate lesson for both mortal and god. For every one saved, there were an infinite amount more waiting for salvation. Mankind's plight was written by those far above him, and he was powerless to stop it.

 _"Help me,"_ A voice whispered.

Kiyoomi sighed out. Humans were such fragile things, spirit and body. Even in the face of death, they could not accept reality.

 _"Please,"_ the voice called out. _"Help me."_

Kiyoomi's brows furrowed with tension.

Long ago, Kiyoomi had learned the consequences of interfering with nature. If it was God's will, then it was God's will. If he saved even one human, it was usually he who bore the brunt of it.

 _"Please!"_ The voice shouted. _"If there's a god, please! Save me."_

The gods always had a plan. 

_"Save me. Please. Please! Save me!"_ The voice cried out with increasing urgency and desperation.

Ah, hell. 

The gods always had a plan. Didn't they?

Kiyoomi tipped forward and off of the building's rooftop.

Bursting into a flare of flower petals, he descended down to the snowy ground on the stream of the late night breeze.

Appearing before the woman, he knelt by her head.

Her eyes were now closed, and she was breathing shallowly. The blood was only darkening, deepening into the powder white plush of the snow, tainting it permanently. Kiyoomi shuffled closer a step and her eyes opened.

She gazed at him with dimming light, even as she lifted her head in hope and surprise. In her gold gaze, Kiyoomi could see impending death, a mark of her earthly bind.

"Who are you?" she asked weakly.

Kiyoomi blinked evenly. "The one you called for."

"Please," she panted softly, her head falling back to the snow. "Please help us."

It was in that moment that the thumping of two additional heartbeats sounded loud and strong in Kiyoomi's ears.

"You're pregnant." He observed. "Twins."

"Save them. I don't care what happens to me," she whispered out, "Don't let my babies die. Please."

She was nearing the end. Kiyoomi could sense it. He promised himself that he wouldn't interfere in human life again. Mortality was a blessing in disguise. From what the world blossomed returned once more in the afterlife. That was the beauty of mortality. Those born from the soil returned to it after they had expired. That was the cycle.

Why was it then, that Kiyoomi's cold heart broke for this mortal who had everything he could only dream of?

He reached his hand out. "You're lucky you encountered such a kind-hearted god today."

The gods always had a plan.

It seemed, when it came to destiny, that even the divine could not escape its clutches.

Of this, Kiyoomi would soon find out full well.


	2. The Goblin's Betrothed

The first real memory Atsumu had as a child was a bizarre one.

He was maybe five, six years old. He held his mother's hand tightly as they waited at a crosswalk for the light to turn green. 

From their mother's other side, Atsumu could hear Osamu complaining to their mother about the summer heat. Atsumu didn't care for it either, the feeling of slick down his neck and back and between the weird parts of his body like his elbow pits or the back of his knees. He much preferred spring. The emerging of flowers and the return of the joyful tune of songbirds, watching the snow melt under the direct gaze of a bright orange sun, not too hot, but a comforting warmth cast over Hyogo.

They were in Tokyo on that day, though. Ma was there on business and she couldn't leave them with the sitter because she was sick. Atsumu had been excited for the trip, but Osamu complained about waking up early and being hungry like he always complained about something.

From across the street, Atsumu spied the shadiest part of the sidewalk. Because of Tokyo's tall buildings and the sun's trajectory, the other side was coolest at that time of afternoon. Ma was soothing Osamu by pointing it out, explaining to him that there might be something good for him to eat on the other side, to imagine it and be patient until their light turned green. Osamu quieted then, consumed by the thought of food which always seemed to shut him up.

A large bus drove in front of them. 

When it had passed, Atsumu could see a figure on the other side that hadn't been there before.

They seemed a little translucent compared to the humans on his side of the crosswalk. This person was fading in and out of the shadows, like they were a watercolor painting, washing in and out as the sun wove between streams of clouds. Dark hair cascaded over their face, concealing their identity. A black aura oozed off the person, making young Atsumu uncomfortable. They wore a long nightgown, similar to ones Ma wore before bed, but the figure's was tattered and dirty. The figure was also barefoot, pale feet gleaming unnaturally, like she was shrouded in moonlight.

He glanced up at his mother with a troubled expression, just to check and see if she saw it too. Her expression remained neutral however, if not a little impatient herself, looking the least bit perturbed. 

Next, he leaned forward to peer into his brother's face. Osamu was yawning, looking forward the same way as their mother, unconcerned.

The crosswalk light turned green. They started walking forward. The figure stayed in place.

Atsumu clutched his mother's hand tighter.

When they were on the other side of the road, Osamu instantly sighed in relief at the cooler temperature. Atsumu shuddered as he continued to watch the translucent being.

As they passed by, Atsumu surreptitiously peeked up at the ghostly presence. As if sensing his gaze, it craned its neck down to look straight back at him. Atsumu gasped and huddled closer to his mother.

"Atsumu, honey," his mother called. "What's wrong?"

He shook with fear.

The entity leaned down towards him, coming shocking close that Atsumu could feel its cold breath sweep over his face. He could see beyond its hair and into its visage, where it lacked any real eyes and had empty, black pits where they should have been. The inky, dark hair fell off of one shoulder and caressed the side of his face as Atsumu continued to cower back against his mother.

Ma was calling for him, but the sound was distant. She was trying to break his grasp on her hand, probably to turn him around to face her, but to no success. 

The entity let out a groaning noise. Atsumu thought he was going to cry.

"Goblin's Betrothed," it groaned eerily. 

Atsumu felt his heart freeze.

"Goblin's Betrothed," it breathed out again, straightening away from him.

Finally, hands grasped at his shoulder and turned him around. 

"Atsumu! Atsumu, honey, what's the matter? Are you alright?"

Atsumu stared up into the face of his mother, watching the way her expression tightened and furrowed with obvious anxiety. Off to the side, Osamu had tilted his head in confusion, an eyebrow raised at Atsumu curiously.

"Ma," he cried weakly, curling into her embrace.

"Sheesh, darlin'," she huffed out a laugh, running her hands through his hair. "What's gotten into you?"

"I—I saw somethin'," he answered her, crying softly.

"Something scary?" she asked.

He nodded his head.

Ma was quiet after that, simply holding him close and letting him cry out his tears until he felt relatively normal again. 

Still, when he pulled away, it was obvious from the way both Ma and Osamu were looking at him that they could tell something was off.

Osamu, surprisingly, didn't say anything. He didn't tease or make fun of Atsumu, but remained uncharacteristically quiet. His face was an impassive mask, staring straight ahead as they continued their walk. Ma only spoke in hushed tones, the lines of her mouth thinning as if she wanted to say something but knew better than to. Her hold on his hand was particularly clenched, unyielding, and Atsumu wondered if she was mad or if she was only trying to make him feel more safe. 

From behind, Atsumu could hear the soft chanting of, _"Goblin's Betrothed, Goblin's Betrothed, Goblin's Betrothed."_

He didn't look back.

* * *

It was a couple years down the line where Atsumu could remember the next strange event.

They were at a playground. 

Osamu and him were playing as usual: kicking each other, shoving and pushing, throwing each other around, and finally wrestling each other to the ground before their mother caught them, shouting at the two of them to knock it off unless they wanted to go home early and do farm work for granny.

They had brought a ball with them. At first they had wanted to kick it around, but soon realized that the park was much too crowded for two young boys to be wildly kicking their ball into the air in case of someone getting caught in the crossfire. The twins decided to start setting to each other instead. They had only started playing volleyball at the beginning of elementary school, two or three years prior, but it was quickly becoming a fascination and obsession for both.

"Out!" Osamu called as Atsumu set a ball two far over his head.

"Out?" Atsumu repeated indignantly. "Samu, whatcha mean?!"

Smugly, his brother replied, "You have to keep it on the grass."

Atsumu glared at him and said roughly, "You never said that before." 

"Well, I said it now. Rules are rules, Tsumu. Whatcha gonna do about it?" 

"I'm gonna rub your face in the dirt like ya deserve, ya rat pig," Atsumu threatened. "But maybe I'll reconsider if ya go get the ball."

Osamu eyed him skeptically. "You wouldn't. You can't. Ma's watchin'."

Atsumu glanced over his shoulder. His mother was nose first in a crossword puzzle, brows knit, mouth screwed and pinched at the corners. They both knew that was her super concentrated face. They both knew that if Atsumu was quick enough, cunning enough, that he could probably smash his brother's face in the dirt before she could notice. Even if she did, he'd still get the satisfaction of mashing Osamu's stupid face in the mud like he deserved, the little, rude brat. 

He smirked at Osamu. "Try me."

Osamu grumbled for a bit, throwing Atsumu his nastiest look, but went over to pick up the ball. 

It was in those moments, as Osamu was turned away from him, bent down to pick up the ball from the mud, that Atsumu felt the presence of someone approaching.

He turned his head, meeting the sweet face of a young girl their age. She was dressed in bright red overalls pulled over a simple, white long-sleeved shirt. Her bright white sneakers were covered in mud, but it had been raining the night before. While the sun was out, and the air was heating up, the shady parts of the park were still fairly wet, so it wasn't so unbelievable to see her shoes so dirty. Atsumu was more concerned about the state of her pigtails, one high and tight on the left side of her head, the other drooping and nearly falling out. Her face was also bruised, a big, purple ring around one of her eyes and a cut at the side of her mouth. When she smiled, there was a tooth missing in the bottom rack of her teeth. 

"What happened to you?" he asked worriedly.

The girl laughed. "Oh, I just fell. It's slippery because of the mud. But don't worry, it doesn't hurt."

Atsumu nodded. He looked to Osamu, but his brother was bringing the ball to their mother, handing it to her so she could wipe it down, no doubt. Atsumu had been the one to set it out of bounds, straight into the mud. The volleyball was brown and soiled, masking the blue and yellow it normally was. 

He thought that was the end of the conversation until the girl started talking again.

"What were you guys doing? With the ball?" she asked.

"Setting." Atsumu answered shortly. "It's a volleyball term. When ya toss the ball to a spiker. It's the coolest position to play."

The girls grinned at him again. "That's awesome! Can I watch?" 

Atsumu looked over the little girl. She wasn't entirely disheveled, only really her face, her shoes and her hair. Still, something about her made him uneasy. Something about her wasn't right. Like standing too close to her made his skin prickle, like talking to her unnerved him for some reason, making goosebumps rise on his arms. He just couldn't put his finger on what it was about her exactly that irked him.

"Shouldn't you go see your ma?" he asked her. "Your hair is falling out of yer ponytail. And your face. It's bruising."

She shook her head, expression still as pleasant as before. "Like I said, it doesn't even hurt. Anyways, she can't do anything for me anymore."

Atsumu supposed that was true. When he and Osamu wrestled at home or on the farm, their mother would usually patch them up, telling them that bruises had to worsen before they got better.

Hesitantly, Atsumu offered, "Don't worry. They might look really gross for a while, but they'll get better."

The girl giggled, her eyes crinkling at the corner as she smiled widely at him, her shoulders coming up to bunch around her ears, happy.

"Hey!" Osamu shouted at him, chucking the ball his way. "You wanna play or not?'

"Yeah, yeah, ya brat!" he shouted back. 

"Just try not to send the ball in the mud this time," Osamu teased, "Otherwise Ma'll use your face to wipe it clean."

"Shuddup, Samu, yer the one who likes to eat so much garbage, maybe you should just lick it clean," Atsumu shot back.

As Osamu grimaced in disgust and continued to yell at him, his eyes veered back to where the girl was standing next to him.

She was gone. 

Atsumu turned around, trying to find her. 

"Hey, pea-brain," Osamu called, "What're ya doing?" 

Atsumu turned back towards his brother, opening his mouth to respond when movement caught his attention.

It was the little girl, sitting under the tree, waving at him with an open smile on her face.

Atsumu sighed out in relief.

The twins played volleyball for some time after that. The little girl stayed under the tree. She would laugh if either brother accidently set over the other or if a receive failed. Atsumu looked to make sure she was still there periodically. Sometimes he wondered where her family was, but then Osamu was sending a ball flying into his face or the side of his head, and how could he not respond kindly to such disrespect? It often drew his attention away from her, but not entirely enough to make Atsumu any more comfortable about her presence.

When it was time to go, their mother calling them over as the sun began to set, Osamu grabbed the ball and casually made his way to her. Atsumu turned to follow when the little girl standing drew his attention.

She smiled brightly at him, just a tinge bit sad, like she regretted seeing a friend leave. Her wave and smile were both meeker this time, making something twist in Atsumu's stomach.

He raised a hand to wave back, watching as her expression softened, grateful. She waved back vigorously, her pigtails flopping untidily with the motion.

"Tsumu," Osamu said cautiously, "who're ya waving at?" 

Atsumu's head pivoted to stare at his brother incredulously. "The girl who's been here all day."

Osamu was looking at him, bewildered. "What girl?"

His head swivelled back to the tree, only to see the little girl was gone. 

"What?" he whispered to himself, shocked.

Osamu looked at him for a moment before shrugging. "Whatever. Let's get home quick, I'm starvin'." 

Atsumu was slow to follow, but as he began to move, the odd presence from earlier returned by his side once more.

"When are you coming back?" 

Atsumu startled, facing the little girl.

"Where were ya before?" Atsumu asked. "And why couldn't my brother see ya earlier?" 

"Your brother?" she echoed. Then, she laughed quietly, grating a little on Atsumu's ears by its shrillness. "Your brother can't see me, silly. Only you can, Goblin's Betrothed."

Atsumu's knees went weak.

There it was again, that name. 

_Goblin's Betrothed._

"Atsumu!" his mother called to him, breaking him from his contemplation. "C'mon, Granny's making your favorite fatty tuna! We don't want it getting cold!"

Atsumu took one step forward, looking back to see that the little girl from before was not there beside him. 

* * *

His oddities perpetuated through the next few years as well. 

The kids on their middle school team hated him. He knew, of course, but there was nothing he could do. Often, he would critisize their technique or calling them names to encourage them to do better. He wasn't going to sugar-coat it to preserve their feelings, Atsumu didn't really work that way, anyways. He just told them how it was. They sucked and he expected better if he was going to send his high quality sets to them. If they weren't going to score points to win them the game, then they didn't deserve his tosses or his respect. 

But besides that, he supposed they thought he was a hypocrite.

While in game, his attention was undivided, but more often than he would like to admit, during practices he did tend to get distracted. He tried not to let it get to him, but he was still so, so scared of whatever it was that he could see. Ghosts? Spirits? Demons? Something else entirely? It didn't matter because every time he could see one, lurking just at the corner of his vision, his blood froze in his veins and set be damned, those things almost always _knew_ he could see them. He'd freeze, letting the ball drop to the ground as all the blood drained out of his face at the sight. 

It wasn't like Atsumu could blame them. He couldn't just tell everyone what was going on, they'd either dismiss him or send him to a mental hospital. Atsumu couldn't even tell his own family, his flesh and blood, what was going on. He feared their rebuke, their rejection of the very idea. Not to mention how humiliating it would be to have Osamu tease him constantly over his "little fear" of made up things like ghosts. 

At lunch one day, Osamu was the first one to bring it up.

"Tsumu, don'tcha think you could be a little nicer?" Osamu tentatively asked.

Atsumu stopped mid-chew. "Nicer?" 

"Yeah, don'tcha care that everyone hates ya?" Osamu persisted. 

Atsumu set his food down.

Did he? He wouldn't lie, it wasn't the greatest feeling to be everyone's worst enemy. But did it outweigh his love of volleyball? Could it drive him off the court? No, because he was having fun, even when everyone else sucked around him. Every toss made it worth it. Wanting to be the best, it made it worth every glare, every dirty word, every accidental-not-really-an-accident shove or push or volleyball to the back of the head he endured. He didn't care if the others hated, if they did that was better for them. It would only make them work harder, if not to spite him than to get him off their backs.

"Nah," he told Osamu, picking up his chopsticks again. "I don't care what they think."

It wasn't like this was the first time they'd have this conversation either. Osamu brought it up whenever things got practicarly bad. Like when most of the bruises and injuries Atsumu obtained weren't by his hand at all, a culmination of all the combined animosity on the team against him. After that, there'd be a grace period, one where Atsumu wasn't nearly so bad to them. It was peace only until he open his big, fat mouth again, then hell rain down once more.

"That's not all, Tsumu." Now Osamu seemed genuinely uncomfortable. "They... say things about you."

"Oh?" he prompted, unconcerned. 

"They say things about your—" Osamu's face scrunched, unable to think of the right words for what he was about to say. "Quirks."

Ah. Atsumu sat up, leaning against the back of his seat. 

In the middle of the cafeteria was a hysterical mother, calling out to her son. She went from table to table, setting ghoulish hands on each of the students shoulders, trying to peer into their faces, looking for her son within all of them. Obviously, nobody could feel her touch or hear her voice, but she kept going, desperate and delusional, asking for her son.

In the window, a dark, ghostly handprint pressed up against the glass. 

Atsumu looked down at his food. 

"So what if I mutter to myself?" he muttered, indignant. "So what if I stare off into space? So what if I start shaking? What's it to 'em?"

"All I'm sayin' is that maybe you should break some of yer habits," Osamu suggested. "Otherwise you might not have any friends."

Friends. The only ones he'd ever known were ones in a parallel universe. Most of the kids he had tried to befriend either left because of his shitty attitude or because of his "quirks". They didn't like his strange self-conversations or the way his eyes roved over a room in search of the next spirit coming to attack him. They thought he was crazy. The first ones to leave were usually the ones unfortunate enough to catch him in the act of actually conversing or addressing a ghost (spirit? demon?). Those ones usually ran for the hills and made sure to tell everyone else on the way about him too.

"I don't need friends," Atsumu said confidently. "I have you. You're my friend, right?"

Osamu snorted. "Don't bet your life on it." 

Atsumu flicked some of his food at Osamu's face.

His brother sneered. "Wanna die?" 

Atsumu's eyes skirted to the middle of the cafeteria again. The woman was now kneeling in the middle of the room, crying softly to herself, face burrowed in her hands with grief. Her son's handprint still pressed against the glass, but it seemed the only person who could see it was Atsumu. Like always. Of course.

Atsumu looked his brother dead in the eye.

"No," he answered emphatically. 

* * *

The lights in the gym were dimmed. They only had one of the two sets on.

It's late on a Friday evening. The entire team had stayed late to practice in preparation for an upcoming match against a rival school. They had been so immersed, so determined to be at their best, that they had lost track of time until Kita-san, an ever observant captain, had told them to wrap it up. Now, the sun had gone down and through the glass of the gym doors they could all see that night had fallen over the sleepy Hyogo countryside. 

Atsumu had always hated the dark.

Suna wore a ridiculous look on his face, flashlight aimed up under his chin. He looked frightening enough with small, shrewd, milky green eyes looking right through all of them and a stringy, sly smile that made him appear all the more creepy.

Gin next to Atsumu was shaking in the semi-dark gymnasium like a leaf. Akagi was grinning in amusement, any apprehension long since discarded. On Atsumu's other side, Osamu looked miserable and vaguely bored, probably thinking of all of the food at home he was missing because of Suna's outrageous storytelling. The other three were mildly distressed, but nothing like poor Gin.

"And then—" Suna was saying, "She walked down the stairs to the basement. Walking through the darkness, she saw something slink away towards the back. She followed it, shining the flashlight in its direction. What she saw, you might be asking? Well..." Suna smirked, just as Gin leaned forward, invested. "It was her uncle, back from the dead!"

Lightning shot out across the sky, the resounding thunder deafening. Gin screamed, jumping high into the air. The remaining seven jerked, startled.

In the far corner of the gymnasium, Atsumu saw something black move along the wall.

"That's enough," Atsumu said, standing. "I think we should make like Kita-san and Aran-kun and go home."

"Why, Atsumu?" Suna teased, "Scared?"

Looking behind Suna, Atsumu could see the black creature much clearer. It crawled on all fours with clawed hands for feet, head spun on upside down. It looked like a man, but at that point Atsumu would argue that it was reasonably _unhuman_.

"By your lame stories?" Atsumu scoffed. "As if."

Moreover, there were scarier things lurking aroud in the shadows. Although, after seeing them for so many years now, Atsumu wasn't scared anymore.

But he didn't want any blood on his hands. While he wouldn't really call any of these guys his "friends" in the conventional sense, Atsumu would argue that they were more Osamu's friends anyways, aside from Suna who often seemed like _more_ than a friend, though Atsumu didn't have any say in that, he was still fond of them. He knew firsthand the strength behind a vengeful spirit. If it ever got its hands on you, it could be deadly.

"Whose got the key?" Gin asked. "They've gotta lock up."

"I have it," Omimi answered. "We can all just leave together."

They all rose to their feet slowly, stretching out sore, stiff muscles. Osamu seemed like the only one who was fully packed to leave, but the others meandered around a bit, joking and shoving each other, no urgency to leave even as the hour grew late. 

Atsumu could feel a tick in his jaw at the leisurely pace. 

The demon thing in the corner crawled closer, clicking at them venomously. _Definitely_ not human.

"Okay, grab your shit and let's go!" Atsumu shouted, jolting everyone out of their slow pace.

"Damn, Tsumu, did Suna scare ya that bad?" Osamu teased.

Atsumu shot him a dirty look, but to his relief everyone seemed to hurry themselves up.

They locked up the gym fine, the pressure behind Atsumu's eyebrow releasing as they all started towards home. 

"Ah," Suna tsked with annoyance, "I left my water bottle. Omimi, hand me the keys. I'll run back to grab it." 

"You can just grab it 'morrow," Osamu yawned. 

Suna frowned at him. "I have to wash it. I'm not like you and Atsumu, filthy crud eaters." 

Osamu looked mildly offended, but it was Atsumu who opened his mouth to speak.

"Give me the keys," he held out his hand.

Everyone stared at him.

He flushed slightly under the attention. "What? Anyone got a problem?" 

"Tsumu," Osamu breathed. "Ya aren't the, uh, how should I say this?"

"Charitable type," Suna finished for him bluntly.

Atsumu's face only darkened. He snatched the keys out of Omimi's hand and marched his way back to the gymnasium. "Yer all just unappreciative of me, jerks! Stay there, I'll be back in a minute. And I mean it, don't come!"

He unlocked the gymnasium door and hurried to turn on all of the overhead lights. When they brightened the empty space, Atsumu sighed a breath of relief. No demon here.

He spotted the traditional black and maroon of Suna's Inarizaki water bottle sitting by the base of the bleacher stands. Of course, the moron would forget it in the most open, noticeable space possible. 

He leaned down to retrieve it when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. 

Atsumu ducked quickly out of the way as a mass of dark, insidious energy surged by him. It was easy to anticipate sneak attacks when one had a younger brother. _Especially_ a twin brother. The angry spirit squarely met his gaze as they faced each other, sizing the other up. Unlike before, it was now radiating massive amounts of negative energy. It was almost a tangible barrier, the waves suffusing out into the static air between them. The creature had numerous, piercing red eyes, blinking at Atsumu like a spider would at a fly caught in its trap.

Atsumu tensed up, damned if he'd let himself fall prey to such a low level, scummy ghost.

 _"Goblin's Betrothed,"_ it hissed at him.

"Ya know, I'm really sick of hearin' all you lousy spirits say the same fuckin' thing," Atsumu growled lowly. 

The demon geared up to lunge at him again. Atsumu could tell in its shifty movements, the way its entire form flexed like smooth muscle, tensing up for an attack. Atsumu barely avoid the barrage of attacks, tripping over his own feet, skidding over the smooth hardwood of the gymnasium floor if caught off guard. He knew, at the back of his mind, that he wouldn't be able to keep this up, national athlete or not. His friends were probably wondering where he was at that moment, the minutes ticking by like the heavy droplets of sweat rolling down his neck.

After a particularly nasty cut shot, Atsumu's patience came to a roaring halt and fury, rage, and exhaustion caused him to stop.

"Enough!" he shouted, stomping his foot.

A peculiar reaction took place. 

A ripple travelled through the air of the gym. The demon screeched as it approached, backing away from the power behind his voice. Atsumu looked down at himself. Had he done that? Had he caused the spirit to back off? He had never possessed such power before, capable of warding off the unwanted attraction that the undead had to him. But if what he thought had just happened was true, then finally, _finally_ , he could fight them off. He could send them away. This changed _everything_. No longer living in fear, living in a life submerged half on earth and half in the afterlife. 

It was heady, the realization.

Throwing his hand out towards the creature, palm open, another ripple went through the air and the beast fled, screaming louder and louder. 

The power was quickly going to his head, he could tell. It was sickening, the glee he got from it. But after years, _years_ , of living in constant fear of dark alleyways, of deserted streets, of empty houses, of the dark of his own bedroom even, this felt like freedom. Like retribution. He could taste it, candy sweet, on his tongue. 

In tormenting the creature which had nearly killed him, he hadn't heard the gym door open.

"Atsumu."

He whirled around.

Suna stood by the open door, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide.

The creature took its opportunity and escaped, crawling along the walls to exit out of the top of the open doorway.

Suna flinched.

As if he could see it.

By the way he was staring off in the direction it had gone, maybe he could.

"You—" Atsumu croaked out. "You can see them?"

But the owlish, stunned expression on Suna's face said it all.

Atsumu didn't say anything more. He handed the water bottle back over to Suna, who accepted unknowingly, almost dropping it when the deadweight registered in his palm, and walked around the ramrod stiff boy to head back to the group. He was only a couple steps ahead when he heard the crunch of Suna's footsteps following.

So when Osamu asked, "What took ya two so long?" neither knew how to respond.

The two only exchanged an uncertain glance, swapping a hundred unspoken words between them in a single meeting of the eyes. 

They never spoke of it again.

* * *

Right before Spring Interhigh, Atsumu was sitting in his bedroom, studying some of the more powerful teams that had made it along with Inarizaki. They were monsters, all of them. Fast, dangerous, unlike anything he had ever seen. There had been some upsets, some surprises, when it came to attendance that year, but Atsumu didn't think much of it. Inarizaki was strong, with an intimidating middle blocker like Suna or a steadfast captain like Kita or even them two twins, untamable, unpredictable, _insatiable._

It was when Atsumu's legs starting to fall asleep and his eyes became blurry and dry that he decided to take a break. He got up from his desk chair and made his way to the kitchen, desperately needing a glass of water and wondering when dinner was going to be ready.

As he stumbled down the stairs, he heard Ma and Osamu laughing about something. Atsumu didn't think anything of it. They usually cooked together, moving like one, cohesive machine around the kitchen. It didn't bother Atsumu, he had no interest in cooking. He was just happy to eat whatever delicious food they conjured up between the two of them.

He did, however, stop when they mentioned his name.

"Ma," Osamu started tentatively. "Do you think there's somethin' wrong with Tsumu?"

"What do you mean, darlin'?" she asked,

"I mean, he's always been that way, sure," Osamu explained, "but there's somethin' not right, you know? He used to wave to people who weren't there when we were kids. Say they were talkin' to him. He used to be really scared, too. Of everythin'. Cling onto ya like some upset little koala. Used to get hurt a lot when we were younger. More than me. Used ta scare ya all the time. Ya told me not to say anythin' about it, but it's just not something I can ignore anymore, Ma, since I've been thinkin' of the future."

"Well, he was just a quirky kid, Osamu," she reasoned. "You were, too."

"I mean, I know that," Osamu relented, the sound of vegetables being cut mixing in with the drone of his voice. "But it's not like he ever got any better. Until maybe a year or two ago, I thought he had. But now..."

"Osamu," their mother's stern voice scolded. "Your brother is fine."

"But ya don't _see_ him, Ma." Osamu pressed desperately. "He still talks to himself, to nobody, just more secretly. More often now then before. I catch him double the time, but I just don't say anythin' because ya told me not to when we were kids. And he's been getting into fights with the floor or somethin' at practice all the time because he's always so beat up on the body. More than when we were kids. It's scary to look at sometimes.

"Remember all those times he'd fall down the steps or into the lake? Or get lost in Granny's corn? Like it was an accident. But it never was. It was like he was being _dragged_ in there. He always used to walk around things that were never there. Ma, ya can't think there's nothin' wrong anymore."

"He's just different," their mother protested, but her voice was weak, frail, without fight and they knew that wasn't true. "A lot of made up friends. A lot of behavioral anomalies. Otherwise, there's nothin' wrong. He's fine, Osamu. He's fine."

Atsumu felt a knot in his stomach. 

It was all true. He was an unfortunate child, if you'd asked anyone. Always had a shadow he would rather talk to than an actual child his age. Their mother had always excused the behavior as "imaginary friends" until he had become old enough that he should have outgrown the habit long before. Still, she made excuses, that he was only thinking aloud, he had a wild imagination, anything that would rationalize him to an outside eye.

He was the harbinger of mishap. Always tripping over his own feet, finding himself in sticky situations, being completely unlucky with his life. Always the one to miss a bus or get caught in the rain unprepared, walking into a wall or nearly getting mugged behind a convenience store when Osamu wasn't around. Take his hair, for example. He hadn't meant for it to come out so strangely muted or awkwardly similar to mustard. He had been aiming for gold, but had struck shale instead.

Osamu carried on, "He doesn't have any friends. All the kids say things about him besides Suna, and I think that's mostly for my sake. The volleyball team try, but they can't get past the blaringly obvious fact that Tsumu isn't normal."

"Osamu, stop."

"All I'm sayin' is that I don't think he's gonna get any better. Ma, he's only getting worse."

The knot in Atsumu's stomach twisted tighter.

The kids at their school did talk, but he never really cared. Kids always talked. Whether he was six or sixteen. It never mattered to him. All he had ever needed was a volleyball between his hands and a gymnasium floor, smooth and polished, beneath his feet and a white net before his eyes. The others could talk all they liked, Atsumu was still more popular than them, still smarter than them, still more impressive than them, and still winning. He had an entire future ahead of him. Where would they be with their words twenty, thirty years from now? Atsumu would be at the top of the world.

"He wants to go on and play professionally." Osamu said, sighing deeply. "'M just scared he might not make it that far."

Atsumu's throat closed up. His knees shook.

Their mother went quiet. 

For the longest time, no one said anything. Atsumu listened to his breath in his ears, the blood rushing. The sound of water boiling and a knife striking against a wooden cutting board were sharp and stark in the silent air, even with how far away Atsumu was from the kitchen. It had become stifling, uncomfortable. There was so much implication simply hanging above them that none of them seemed to know what to do with it.

Finally, their mother spoke at a low, powerful volume. "You look out for yer brother, Osamu. Ya hear me?"

His brother sounded startled, "Y—yeah, Ma."

She sighed this time, her voice meaningful and soft. "Without ya, Atsumu would be very, very lonely."

The air again became heavy and strained. 

Atsumu went back to his room, a new lump forming in his throat that he was afraid not even water could wash down.

Later that night, Atsumu had refused to eat with his mother and Osamu. He blamed it on the upcoming volleyball tournament, simply making a plate for himself and going back up to his room. He couldn't look either of them in the eye and pretend he was alright.

When it was time for bed, Atsumu faced the wall, an arm under his pillow, his fist clenching the blanket close.

Osamu huffed from above. "I know ya overheard."

Atsumu didn't reply.

"Listen—" Osamu started.

"Yer a freakin' traitor!" Atsumu spat. 

Osamu's head hung down from the top bunk, blocking out the stream of moonlight coming in through the window and casting Atsumu's wall in shadow. "What did ya want me ta do? Ma deserved to know." 

"Whatever," Atsumu shot back, shrugging his shoulders closer to himself.

Osamu breathed out harshly. "Tsumu—"

Atsumu grabbed one of his pillows and shucked it at Osamu's face as hard as he could. Without even waiting to see his brother's expression, Atsumu turned back around, wrapping himself securely in his blanket, settling onto his second pillow and telling him, "Just go to sleep!"

Osamu returned the favor in kind and chucked the pillow at Atsumu's head but dutifully returned to his bunk, settling in for bed. 

It was a restless sleep for Atsumu. 

Because everything that had been said that evening had been true. And he, too, was scared if he could live his entire life like this.

* * *

They lost at Nationals.

It was not an easy pill for Atsumu to swallow. Regret coursed through his veins and every time he looked at Kita-san something ached a little in his chest.

He made a vow to himself right then that they would never lose like that again.

It's when they returned back home that the fight happened.

Osamu wanted to quit. No. He _would_ quit. After high school. After next year, where they vowed to break the spirit of any team thinking of usurping Inarizaki's rightful place at the top. After that? Atsumu didn't know. 

An ultimate betrayal. He couldn't believe it. After everything they had been through, Osamu was leaving him? It didn't sit right with him. 

It did make sense, if Atsumu squinted at the hard, minute details. Osamu's daily occurrences in the kitchen with their Ma, how he loved to bake with their granny, the way he gazed longingly, lovingly, at food of all kinds. _A true connoisseur,_ their Ma used to say, making their granny laugh. 

For Atsumu, it had always been volleyball. It always would be.

They had made up, of course. They were brothers, born from the same blood, they could never stay mad for long. But even if they weren't actively aware of it, the rift between them had started to divide.

Losing Osamu was like losing a bit of himself. It was true that all their lives they had raced towards being so entirely different, wanting to be apart as separate entities, that they had lost track of what it was like being together, relying on each other, having each other. Osamu was all Atsumu had. His only friend, his only confidant, the only single other person on the planet who knew him inside and out. Sometimes it would scare Atsumu, that maybe they were _too_ alike, that maybe the only way Osamu knew what he was thinking was because they _were_ the same. But in the end it wouldn't even matter. Because someone who knew him inside and out and who was similar in so many of those aspects was also the only other person on the planet capable of helping him satiate that need.

In third year, Atsumu became captain. 

It was a daunting task, but a task he took great pride in accomplishing.

It was also something that divided him and Osamu further.

Now, he was in charge of the team. There was no Kita-san to level out there crackling energy or any Aran-kun willing to interject in any argument to get the twins to see eye to eye. No, Atsumu was leading this team. His word was law and if anyone couldn't keep up, he would simply leave them behind.

Osamu didn't like that much. He would always try to mellow Atsumu out, yelling at him about how he was being too harsh, that assaulting the first and second years with threats of dismissal weren't the way to get their team functioning as it should. That leaving them behind would be a mistake. A costly one.

 _Like how you're leaving_ me _behind?_ Atsumu would think bitterly.

But Osamu's rebuffs would set him straight again. 

After a particularly nasty fight, one started because Atsumu had run his mouth at Suna, Osamu had bodied him into a gym wall and physically taught him a lesson about talking to others that way. There was an earful about pride, a punch in the gut for arrogance, an elbow to the nose for stubbornness, and a rather strong kick to the ass for being so much of one for no reason. Atsumu, sore and bruised, had wallowed near the bleachers, licking his wounds like an injured puppy and thought about his actions.

What right did Osamu have for talking to him like that? For treating him like that? He was leaving the goddamn sport, anyways, what did he care? He had chosen to be selfish, to pursue food instead of volleyball, what right did he have to lecture about, acting so oddly self-righteous?

It made Atsumu angry. 

Fine. Osamu thought he knew so much? Well, they'd see about that. Atsumu would prove him wrong.

So Atsumu stopped being overtly mean and instead focused on volleyball again, something he had forgotten about since the news broke out that Osamu would be leaving the sport, and by extension, Atsumu himself.

And lo and behold, it had worked.

Atsumu was still a setter, after all. A national level one at that. With his steady guidance, they were nearly undefeatable. 

Along the way, Atsumu had started to need Osamu more, surprisingly after he had promised to ignore his brother for the most part. He would rely on Osamu's infallible playmaking if one of the first or seconds years couldn't compete against their opponents across the net. He was pushed even harder by Osamu's insufferable scrutiny of his leadership. Now with Kita and Aran gone, the stability of the team rested on Suna's blocks, the twins attacks, and reliable receiving. Their younger classmen needed work. It fell on him and Osamu to teach them.

It was hard work, but it had been so, so worth it. 

The look on his brother's face during their final game would stay with him forever.

It had been a hard, well fought game. The other team had been pretty unpredictable as well. It seemed as if volleys went on forever, not even the twins synchronized attacks were getting through at times. Frustration was quickly mounting underneath Atsumu's skin and for all that he hated ghosts, Atsumu was sure he'd burn up just from rage and become one. But as Osamu laid a steady hand on his back, giving strength to his backbone, Atsumu's mind cleared. It was only halfway through the game, they still had more ball to play. He had huddled the team close and came up with a new plan.

And it had worked. 

Because as the ball finally, _thankfully_ , fell loudly that one last time in a hushed, intense stadium, all eyes on them underneath the bright white, harsh gymnasium lights, Atsumu could have nearly passed out. He thought he did with all the roar of the blood rushing through his ears and his blacked out vision until he realized it was the sound of the entire arena plus his brother screaming into his ear, along with an arm slung around his head. 

Their opposing team had come to usurp the divine destiny of Inarizaki's position. They should have realized that things written in the stars could not be so easily changed.

As they stood on the podium, medals around their necks, Osamu holding up the trophy proudly, the sound of camera shudders going off all around them, the reports all shouting to gain their attention at the same time, it all hit Atsumu at once.

He would never have this again. 

He turned to Osamu.

 _I'm going to leave him,_ Atsumu thought to himself. A small, sad smile tipped up the corner of his mouth as he watched Osamu and Suna hug each other tightly. _I'm going to leave him so he can't leave me._

He had yet to think of where he would go, but it didn't matter; anywhere that wasn't right next to Osamu was still too far. 

It wasn't simply that Osamu was all he had. That much had always been true. Osamu _was_ all he had. Some would argue that Atsumu had his mother too, but it wasn't the same.

Osamu was his other half. The part of him that would be missing when Atsumu left. But that was never the problem.

The problem was, what would the empty half of him do when Osamu left? 

Would it shrivel up like a measly earthworm under the rays of a morning sun? Would it wither away into nothingness? Contentment once Atsumu had secured his path to the higher leagues? 

Or would that dark, empty half of him learn real dissatisfaction and choose to consume him whole?

Neither Osamu nor Ma had been surprised when Atsumu told them he would leave Hyogo after graduation. 

"That was always the plan," Ma had said simply.

Osamu shrugged. "Good luck, bro, you'll need it."

Atsumu had thrown a pea at his face.

There was still that undercurrent of apprehension from both of them, Atsumu could tell. It remained through the remainder of their school year, through graduation, up and into the summer.

On the day before Atsumu was to leave, to wherever, he folded both arm behind his head and smiled up at the top bunk.

 _I will leave,_ he thought to himself. _On my own terms, my own way._

_I will leave,_ he thought as he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of his future. _I will leave so you don't have to._

* * *

Kiyoomi tipped his umbrella back, staring up at an overcast sky. 

A single drop plopped down onto his nose. 

Motoya had dragged him to an open market, fully aware of the ambiguous status of the weather. 

Osaka was beautiful on most spring days, but under the texture of a monochromic sky, it shaded the city in gloom and ghostly hauntings.

They slowly walked through the open stalls, looking at the various vendors and some unique knickknacks that Motoya kept picking up, although Kiyoomi fervently scolded him multiple times not to.

"Oh, Kiyo," Motoya laughed, knowing the nickname made Kiyoomi frown with disapproval, "I could just clear these mortals' memories anyway. They wouldn't remember a thing."

Ah, yes. The immeasurable power of a god. To not only manipulate time, but also a person's singular grasp on reality.

Mortals were poor, poor beings.

As they continued to walk, the rain grew heavier. Motoya, completely reckless and irresponsible, no less refined by being a god, only pulled out his umbrella when the rain came down in thick droplets, soaking through his clothing could it actually seep into the fabric.

"Motoya," Kiyoomi ground out.

"Sorry, sorry," he chuckled easily. "It was only a drizzle for so long. Didn't think I'd need my umbrella."

They went on like that. Motoya being disgustingly and disparagingly overt about his supernaturality that Kiyoomi almost completely left him behind because of it. Motoya continued to tease and joke around like it was nothing, but Kiyoomi did not laugh back. 

As they were walking along a cobblestone street, Kiyoomi noticed a very peculiar individual.

It was a teenage boy. He had his hoodie drawn up over his head, shielding him from the rain, but the hoodie did not prevent anyone from seeing the shockingly yellow color of his hair. He was tall, nearly as tall as Kiyoomi himself, head bent down as he scrolled through his phone, the earbuds he wore blasting some loud, synthetic music. 

He must have realized something as his head popped up, eyes widening as they took in Kiyoomi. 

Something deep and unpleasant coiled in Kiyoomi's gut. 

Those eyes. He had seen those eyes before.

As an immortal, it was hard to place most people in most timelines as time passed differently and a god saw the faces of many people, most forgettable. Kiyoomi was lucky if he had conceptual control of his duration on earth considering how the time passed for him usually. Most days blended into months. The months flew by to become years. For a lonesome deity such as himself, Kiyoomi's normal world was distorted by the lack of gravity to hold him to it. Only Motoya's occasional visits presented some real insight into what was going on around him.

But now, it felt like the world had narrowed down, slowing to a grinding, suspenseful halt. This person was so familiar, like he had known them once before, but not quite so either. It was hard to explain, like seeing them was bringing some kind of unnatural hum to Kiyoomi's skin, entirely blocking out Motoya's tireless chatter. This person also seemed to be holding his gaze, which was bizarre and just so completely absurd in thought. 

As if spatially aware, the boy angled himself away, nearly missing Kiyoomi's body, whispering so quietly that if Kiyoomi were not a god, he would not have heard him, "Sorry."

Then continued to walk on. 

Kiyoomi felt his feet stop, gazing over his shoulder at the strange boy in an oversized hoodie.

Not remarkable in the slightest, but still definitely so.

"Hmm?" Motoya questioned, stopping a few steps ahead of Kiyoomi before realizing he was not beside him anymore.

"Motoya," Kiyoomi spoke faintly, "Did you see that boy?"

"Who? The human?" Motoya confirmed. "Yeah, why?"

Kiyoomi remained contemplatively silent.

Eventually, he turned his head back to his companion, replying, "Never mind. It's nothing."

Motoya raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything else. 

The relentless chatter picked back up again, drowning Kiyoomi in his own thoughts. Through the years, he had learned to tune out Motoya's incessant speech and simply exist in the universe instead. Enjoying the sound of the rain, listening to the rustle of footsteps or laughter of the surrounding people. He learned to center himself in a hostile world, one that offered him no relief from living and none of the compensation of death.

In that moment, however, Kiyoomi thought. 

It looked like the boy had gone around him. As in, _intentionally_ gone around him like he was aware of Kiyoomi. Which was an entirely preposterous notion to entertain in the first place. He had been searching centennials for even the barest of glimpses of such a person. Now, only to have it thrust upon him once he'd given up the idea of sweet afterlife did the universe decide to bestow upon him such a gift was simply too cruel a belief for him to bear.

No, he did not believe it. He couldn't. 

Even so, his mind wandered. 

Thinking back on it, Kiyoomi realized the boy _had_ purposely gone around him. Like he had seen Kiyoomi.

A shudder went through his entire body.

Motoya smirked knowingly. "Cold?"

Kiyoomi glared, wrapping his coat around himself tighter. "No."

The two of them walked through a crowd of people. 

Kiyoomi sighed as a familiar comfort returned to him.

 _That's right,_ he thought to himself. _That's how it ought to be._

Because mortals were simple beings.

And regular ones could not see a god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally didn't want Atsumu to be able to see ghosts and spirits and such because that felt too similar to the original drama, but then the more I thought about it, the more it made sense to the plot simply for the purpose of Atsumu being able to see Kiyoomi and other unearthly beings even when they don't want him to. It's because he's the goblin's betrothed, it's what separates him from other human beings.


	3. Chance Encounters

Atsumu would never admit it, but he felt kinda lost.

In more ways than one.

Osaka in early spring was usually beautiful. Flowers were starting to bloom, the snow was finally all melted, although the last chill of winter couldn't be completely shaken off yet. And today was no different.

It wasn't blisteringly cold as it had been the last couple of months, but it couldn't be considered a pleasant day either. The wind was blowing and the sky was still overcast from yesterday's rain, muting the colors of the Osaka scenery. The cherry blossom trees were only beginning to bud, a handful already displaying fragrant, delicate pink flowers blossoms. On that note, it wouldn't take long for the rest of them to follow suit.

It was nice, all the small shops on the side of the street, but empty. Atsumu decided to head home.

He had moved out to Osaka on a whim. His mother had some friends here, so it had seemed like a relatively safe option. He had also looked at Tokyo, but the rent for a single bedroom apartment was ridiculous, and he had yet to land a spot on any of the professional volleyball teams there. 

The Adlers had already rejected him, which stung, but Atsumu would simply have to repay their lapse in judgement back by handing them loss after loss in his future. He had learned in September that the Black Jackals were searching for a replacement setter within the last few years of their starting setter's career. They looked like a potentially threatening team, so he had pinned a thumbtack into the newspaper and hauled ass to Osaka at the beginning of October. 

The tryouts had gone as smoothly as Atsumu could have hoped for. He met with Coach Foster and the captain of the team, Meian Shugo. They were enthusiastic about his potential considering his reputation in high school and how well he had performed on the practice court. They had called him soon after to sign a contract with him. He would sit on the bench for two or three years, learning under the diligent hands of their current and backup setters before finally stepping onto the court himself. He was fine with that, for now. He couldn't really complain if he wanted to; they _were_ paying him, after all. 

He had managed to get a small studio apartment (more reminiscent of a shoebox, but Atsumu was glad he at least had a roof over his head) owned by a friend of a friend of his mother's. She was a kind older lady, always bringing him homemade goods and trying to set him up with one of her three daughters. Atsumu was flattered by the attention, obviously, but he wasn't interested in anything serious at the moment. He still had hard work ahead of him before he could think of settling down.

Or at least, that was the lie he always told her.

Truth was, he was already predestined to belong to someone else.

Someone he didn't even know, nor had ever met.

Atsumu wasn't worried about it. Should that person turn out to be an asshole, he could just leave. Just because their union was predestined didn't mean it was destiny. Although, he sometimes did wonder. Did they also know about him? Or _of_ him? All the spirits he had ever encountered had known who he was. He didn't really know what to think about that since none of them had ever explained (not that he ever gave them an opportunity to, but who really wanted creepy ghosts to hang around them in the first place?). Not to mention how crazy he would look talking to thin air.

He tried not to think about it.

 _Oh, well,_ he always thought.

Best case scenario was that they never came looking for him. That way he could just live his life the way he wanted without any hitches. Or even if that person did come looking for him, he could always just say that they had the wrong person. But this also warranted the thought that maybe they wouldn't recognize him even _if_ Atsumu did happen upon them. Or if none of those previous options were viable, maybe Atsumu could just show some "attitude" and they'd run away, leaving him alone like people usually did when they took notice of his eccentricities.

Although, some part of him, a teeny tiny part at the very back of his mind he didn't acknowledge, did want to see this person's face. Maybe it was rudimentary, human intrigue that he couldn't tamp down on or control. Maybe it was the innate programming instilled into him since birth, fated from the moment he had entered the world. Maybe it was to scorn them for all of the misery and pain he had to experience since he was a child because of them. Maybe it was to see if all of the trouble had really, truly been worth it.

Or maybe his mind had completely derailed, and he was actually going crazy.

But Atsumu couldn't deny it. He _was_ curious.

It did keep him up at night, when he looked up at the ceiling instead of the underside of a bunk, unable to go to sleep without the sound of someone else's breathing acting as his lullaby. Or when he sat at his small kitchen bar, eating a bowl of noodles alone for dinner, staring at blank, white tile. Or when he was walking the dark, cold streets of unfamiliar, large scale Osaka, nobody by his side.

Now that he was older, these occurrences were happening far too often for his liking.

Opening his refrigerator door, Atsumu scanned the top and bottom shelves. He hadn't done groceries in a week and a half. It was time he stopped by the local convenience store.

Atsumu whistled as he walked, earbuds in place, hood up over his head. It wasn't that he was hiding from spirits, no, that was a cowardly thing for someone to do. It was more so that he was laying low from their radars, like he was some kind of celebrity of the afterlife.

He entered the convenience store just as the sun hit its highest peak in the day. Still, veiled behind grey clouds, it didn't lighten the mood on Osaka's streets enough for Atsumu's liking. On these kinds of dreary days, full of sleepy disappointment and drowsy sorrow, spirits liked to come out and play more often than usual.

Grabbing a small basket, Atsumu threw in some fruits and vegetables, a whole lot of meat, and some other necessities for his fridge. As he was passing the desserts section, a cute, little Bundt cake caught his attention. Hanging off the store's shelves by metal clips were little packs of four candles each. Atsumu had a lighter in his pocket, something he kept to help him feel safe in the dark even as he knew how foolish that was, when realization came over him.

 _Ah,_ he thought, _I didn't celebrate my birthday last year._

October had passed a little less than six months ago. He hadn't called Osamu, but had received a text from his brother early in the morning before he had awaken. He had returned the sentiments late in the afternoon. The upstart of the restaurant Osamu had decided on took up a lot of his and Ma's time. Even when they did talk, there was nonstop chatter in the background from one or both of them, planning and organizing all the décor and finances and menu. When Atsumu had told them of his position on the Jackals, Osamu had teased him about being benched while their mother had expressed great joy at his big break.

Underneath it all, though, Atsumu could still sense their hesitation. There was still the disjointed way they spoke, like they were careful about certain words they said around or to him, unwilling to give away the real meaning to their feelings below the surface. Like they still expected Atsumu to turn around and come home, like they were _hoping_ for it. Telling him in aftermath that it was alright if things didn't pan out the way he had wanted. He was always welcome back home. As if they knew he would mess it all up, inevitably.

It drove him mad, recalling their conversation from a couple years back when only Osamu had known he was listening and had still gone ahead and said it all. They didn't believe he was capable of making it out on his own. That he _needed_ Osamu by his side, for whatever reason.

He would prove them wrong. 

Life without him hadn't been so bad so far. He barely even missed him.

The cake drew his attention again.

There was really no use in picking out a small cake and blowing out small candles. It wouldn't feel the same of course, alone in his small, rat-hole apartment with blaringly white tiles that hurt his eyes to look at most days and neutral furnishings with no personality. He was also trying to keep in shape; even though he wasn't a professional yet didn't mean he wasn't on a professional team. He still had his priorities. Once he was starting for the team, he wouldn't let anything stand in his way. He would be ready.

But he wanted an excuse. For some unfathomable reason, he wanted an excuse to buy a tiny Bundt cake and eat all of it in a single sitting.

 _I'm gonna do it,_ he thought to himself. _Because I want to. There's no one to stop me._

The freedom had lost its charm a long time ago, but today it felt intoxicating.

So he gathered up the Bundt cake, candles, and tossed them into his grocery basket with the rest of his stuff. After he checked out, Atsumu decided to go have his Bundt cake at his favorite spot.

He was sitting just outside his favorite park. The couple of trees with cherry blossoms looked extra vibrant against such a sullen sky. The petals held strong against the wind for the most part, but every now and then with a particularly strong gust, the flowers would splay apart, some petals floating to rest along the surface of a deep, violet stream, heading under an arched, stone bridge because of its unyielding current.

It was peaceful. There were minimal people out. Some couple walked through the cherry blossom park, plucking flowers out of trees to tuck behind an ear, but Atsumu was preoccupied with his cake. He tried not to look, or at least pretended like he wasn't looking, in favor of stuffing his face with Bundt cake he knew he was going to regret later when he watched his calorie count go up.

Opening the candle package, Atsumu pulled out a singular, striped, blue and white candle and stuck it into the closest edge of the Bundt cake. He flicked his lighter open and lit the wick, watching his candle burn itself to life.

"Better do this quick," he muttered to himself. "Before the breeze blows it out."

Atsumu clapped once, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and made a wish. 

Then, he blew the candle out.

* * *

Kiyoomi blinked down at his hands.

There was steam or smoke rising up off of them.

He was in his library, rereading an old classic while waiting for Motoya to get home from running some errands. He never stayed long on Earth, as his job was civic towards the gods. He would be returning to them soon, as he was one of few lesser deities able to hop from one plane to the next, and the gods desperately needed their messenger boy back. Kiyoomi was often surprised the higher gods even allowed Motoya to visit him, an exiled deity as he was. It seemed counterintuitive with how they treated him from up in their abyss.

But that was besides the point because in that one moment he went from sitting in his library reading to moving through several planes of time at lightning speed. _Without_ Motoya.

When Kiyoomi blinked opened his eyes again, he stood before a boy.

No, not _a_ boy. _The_ boy.

Wide eyed, the blonde boy from the day before stared up at him with a surprised, open expression. Kiyoomi stared back at him pensively.

Those eyes. Where had he seen those eyes before?

"Oh," the boy started. "It's you."

Kiyoomi quizzically tilted his head.

"From yesterday," the boy continued. "On the street."

Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow, impressed. _He remembers me?_

But the boy's face rearranged itself quickly. "Who _are_ you?" 

Kiyoomi watched the boy's face closely.

His surprise had morphed into cautious confusion. He regarded Kiyoomi with an air of suspicion, eying him up and down warily.

 _That's my line,_ he thought bitterly towards the boy.

After he had taken Kiyoomi in, the boy had the audacity to look put off, wearing an expression of obvious distrust. "Are ya following me around or somethin'?"

Kiyoomi snorted, a touch of amusement twitching up one corner of his mouth. Humans and their measly egos, thinking the entire universe revolved solely around them.

"Yo," the boy waved a hand in his face, expression wrinkled in concern. "Ya mute or somethin', dude?"

Kiyoomi pursed his lips in disdain.

"No, I'm not following you," he answered in a low, gruff voice.

The blonde boy nodded. "Okay." After a beat of pause, he returned to pressing Kiyoomi for information. "You live 'round here, then?" 

Kiyoomi shot him a reproachful look. "No."

He wasn't trying to be misleading. It wasn't like Kiyoomi could answer him clearly, he himself wasn't sure how he ended up standing before the mortal. Did the human really not know?

As if to answer his question, the boy's mouth quirked to the side in thought, eyes flickering around contemplatively. "Hmm. Fishy. How do ya suppose ya got here all of a sudden, then?"

Kiyoomi resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh.

This human was useless. It seemed Kiyoomi would have to do the dirty work himself.

"I think the real question here is why you summoned me," Kiyoomi redirected.

The boy's face morphed again into shock, staring at Kiyoomi with big, disbelieving eyes. 

"Me?" He yelped. "I don't know what you're talkin' about! I was just sittin' here, minding my own business."

"Evidently not." Kiyoomi droned.

"Hold up, yer just sayin' crazy stuff here," the boy pointed at him accusingly. "There's no way a guy just pops up out of nowhere like ya just did and I have somethin' to do with it. That just doesn't make sense. I didn't do anything."

Kiyoomi blinked back at him patiently. When the boy said nothing more, only continued to point at him with a stern, disapproving face, Kiyoomi glanced down in his lap.

"Is it your birthday?" Kiyoomi asked.

"Huh?" The boy looked down. "Oh, yeah. No, it was back in October. I just thought I'd treat myself."

Kiyoomi's eyes narrowed. "Treat yourself? You didn't celebrate with your friends or family? Children usually do."

The blonde visibly bristled, a light flaring up in his eyes. "Hey, who're ya calling a kid?"

Kiyoomi blinked evenly. "You, naturally. What with your distasteful diction and that awful hairstyle, not to mention how boyish you look, you're obviously a child."

The boy opened his mouth to retort back when Kiyoomi's eye caught something in his periphery. He looked out at the newly bloomed cherry blossoms, face softening, sighing wistfully and forgetting his source of stress for the moment.

"Ah, youth," he murmured to himself. "It's been so long since I remember what that feels like."

There was a moment's pause.

Then, the boy said, "Ah, I see."

Kiyoomi's eyes veered back to him.

The boy smiled. "You're a ghost."

Kiyoomi frowned. "I'm not a ghost."

The boy leaned forward, getting closer to him, whispering, "Don't worry, it's okay. Whatever happened to you must've been unfortunate, believe me, I understand. But you shouldn't let that get to you. You should ascend now, wanderin' around isn't good for ya."

Kiyoomi stared at the boy blankly. 

"I'm not a ghost," he repeated.

"Well, what else could'ya be?" the boy reasoned. "Yer obviously not from this world."

Kiyoomi reeled back a step, internally jarred from such an accurate appraisal.

"How do you know that?" he rasped out.

The boy shrugged. "Can't explain it. Just do." He grinned cheekily. "Probably has somethin' to do with the Goblin."

The strangest feeling went through Kiyoomi at those words. It was like someone had punched him hard in the gut, all the air rushing out through his lungs, sensation tingling away where the blow had struck, but not exactly painful altogether. 

Kiyoomi's expression hardened, guarding himself against attack. "Goblin?"

The blonde shrugged, smiling hopelessly. "Yeah. All the ghost I've encountered always say the same thing. _Goblin's Betrothed, Goblin's Betrothed._ They've never told me what it means, though." He looked at Kiyoomi curiously. "Do _you_ know?"

Kiyoomi felt an unbidden shudder go down his spine.

The gods always had a plan. Could they be so cruel as to put this boy, whom Kiyoomi had been waiting his entire life for, in his path now? After denying him such relief for so long? After banishing him from the sweet abyss of his home to suffer in the mortal realm for a near millenia?

Kiyoomi wouldn't put it past them.

He must not have responded to the boy's liking because Kiyoomi was snapped from his thoughts at the frustrated click of a tongue. "Damn. And here I thought I'd actually find somethin' out about this Goblin. You ghosts sure are a lot of trouble. Ya should probably go now, 'fore ya get stuck."

"I told you," Kiyoomi said as evenly as his fraying emotions would allow, "I'm not a ghost." 

The boy met his eyes, looking annoyed. "Yeah, I heard ya the first time. If you ain't no ghost, what exactly are ya? A demon? A spirit? A god?" 

Kiyoomi felt another shiver run up his spine. "Something like that."

The boy's eyes widened a bit in excitement, the bright background of the overcast, grey sky causing flecks of amber and gold to distinctly rise from his irises. "Really? Yer a god? Yer lyin' to me! Seriously? That's crazy! I've never seen one of ya before."

Kiyoomi took a step back. "Consider that a good thing. The gods are pretentious, meddlesome creatures. They cause as much harm as they do good."

The boy smirked, quirking a teasing eyebrow. "Like you?"

"Not if I can help it," Kiyoomi answered. 

A wind picked up behind him. A couple of intact cherry blossom flowers swirled around his feet.

The boy stared at him in awe.

"I will be taking my leave now," Kiyoomi informed the slack-faced boy. "Let's never meet again."

The whirl of blush colored petals surrounded Kiyoomi in a vortex of wind. A blindingly white light shot out from the eye of the gale. The boy shielded his eyes from the sudden onslaught, blocking out how Kiyoomi's dark silhouette disappeared from amongst the flowers. 

In the blink of a human eye, it was over.

The howl of the wind died down and when he looked up again, the god was gone, leaving only a small pool of fleshy flower petals in his wake.

* * *

"Where have you been?" Was the first thing Motoya asked as Kiyoomi walked through the door.

"The boy," Kiyoomi answered directly, "He claimed to be the Goblin's Betrothed."

Motoya choked.

A nervous knot Kiyoomi had not noticed before was slowly working up his throat.

Shooting up, Motoya turned to stare at him, mouth agape.

"No way..." he breathed.

Kiyoomi met his stare head-on, nodding curtly once.

All of a sudden, Motoya's expression split open in incredible joy.

"Oh, Kiyoomi!" he shouted.

He raced over to the other, engulfing him in a tight hug.

"This is amazing news! Now you'll be able to ascend again and rejoin us above!" Motoya cried, pulling back to look in his face. "This is what you've always wanted! I can't believe it. I thought this day would never come!"

 _That should be my line,_ Kiyoomi found himself thinking _again_ for the second time that day.

"What's with that face?" Motoya asked with concern, searching through his tense expression. "Why don't you look happy?"

"I doubt he is the one," Kiyoomi answered.

Motoya drew back. "Why? Didn't he touch you? Didn't he prove it?"

Kiyoomi stiffly shook his head. "I did not give him the opportunity."

Motoya cupped his own face in his hands, groaning miserably. "Kiyoomi! Seriously? You ran away from your only option to return to the abyss? Are you serious? What's wrong with you? Isn't this the one thing you've wanted more than anything since the gods banished you?" 

"Of course, it is," Kiyoomi shot back hotly. "But there is no easy way to ask someone to touch you like that, is there? Especially a child! What if someone passing by thought I was a pedophile?"

Motoya burst out laughing.

"Motoya," Kiyoomi ground out darkly.

Wiping a tear out of his eye, Motoya replied, "Are you sure he's a kid? I don't really see the gods sending a child out to end your life, Kiyoomi."

"I wouldn't put anything past them," Kiyoomi replied resentfully.

"Well, did you ask him how old he was?" 

He hesitated.

"No," Kiyoomi replied, this time a little sheepish at the hypercritical gaze Motoya directed towards him. "But he said his birthday was in October."

Motoya rolled his eyes. "That's all you got from the conversation?" 

"He thought I was a ghost," Kiyoomi added.

Motoya nodded approvingly. "So he can see you."

Kiyoomi's lips pursed uneasily. "Yes."

"That's good!" Motoya said. "It's a start. A really good start. All we have to do is confirm that he can see and hear your heart. We can figure out the rest from there." 

Kiyoomi nodded again, slower this time, as if processing Motoya's words.

Later that night, as Kiyoomi lay sleepless in his bed, staring up at the lazy spinning of the overhead fan he refused to turn off even as he froze beneath it, he could not stop thinking.

 _This is it,_ he thought to himself. _This is really happening._

Then, belatedly, _But what if it's not?_

What if the both of them had needlessly gotten their hopes up? The boy had been able to see him, which was promising, but Kiyoomi had known cases throughout the years where youngsters could see ghosts, speak to them, maybe even touch them if plausible. It did not mean they were the Goblin's Betrothed. It simply meant they were special, and possibly a bit unfortunate.

But the boy had been able to see him specifically. Even if children could see the dead, that did not guarantee that they could see _him_. It was almost definite that they could not, at least, unless he wanted them to. Kiyoomi knew this. Could he have allowed his illusion to drop in front of the boy? Once, maybe, if he was being especially careless. Twice, within the span of the same week, no less? Unlikely.

Still, the child had mentioned naught about Kiyoomi's heartbeat. Could he hear it? See it? Feel it? All of them? None of them? He hadn't mentioned it to Kiyoomi back while they were talking, but the two of them had been preoccupied with more... _pressing_ matters. He was sure the boy had summoned him. How else could he describe an unprompted jump through the parallel planes of the universe? Forced upon him without his consent? Who else could have premediated that?

 _He's just a human boy,_ Kiyoomi argued with himself. _There's no way he could have done something like that._

Which was fundamentally true. A human had no power over a god, even a lesser one such as Kiyoomi. That meant someone else must have allowed him to skip time, someone god-like. But that didn't make sense. No one else could control careful dimensional jumps like that. Motoya was the only one among the lesser gods. Any other explanation pointed to the higher gods, which put a sour taste in Kiyoomi's mouth to even dwell upon, but was rather fanciful. The higher gods cared very little about what happened to humans, even less so to a fellow fallen god they had purposely disposed of.

Along those lines, however, didn't that prove the boy was supernatural to some degree? If no deity was involved, the only explanation left was that the boy _had_ summoned him. How? Why? When Kiyoomi had questioned him, he had been half out of his mind with panic. Apparently, seeing ghosts was one thing. To call upon a god at one's beck and call? Unimaginable.

Kiyoomi turned over to the cooler side of the bed. He nestled down further into his blankets, curling up further into himself.

He had to find that boy again. There were too many questions left unanswered. 

A tension constricted in Kiyoomi's gut.

A singular, last piece of evidence.

The boy had known of him. Had called him by name. 

There was no mistake. There were no other Goblins. There was only Kiyoomi. 

Was that enough? 

Kiyoomi couldn't be sure.

 _He could have heard that term from anywhere,_ he told himself. _He could have just been playing around._

He was a child. They were often mischievous. 

Just like a certain god Kiyoomi knew.

 _No,_ Kiyoomi shook himself from the thought. _Those gods cannot come down to Earth._

Yet, the very thought left Kiyoomi shaken. 

_If they can banish me here,_ his mind drifted, _what is stopping them from doing things to me here?_

Could the kid have been a host for the god of mischief? The god in question had never disliked Kiyoomi, per se, but then again, the god of mischief didn't dislike or like anybody. That was not to say he didn't have muses when the fancy struck him. Could he have teleported Kiyoomi to him, in possession of the blonde boy's body? He had been a little cheeky, if Kiyoomi thought back on it. Kiyoomi also wouldn't put it past the gods to choose someone with a little more spunk for a careful, diligent god like himself. 

Ah, it was driving Kiyoomi mad! He took his pillow, folding one half of it over his face and squeezing the other half around his head until he had become the inside of a Kiyoomi taco. 

He had to stop worrying. The gods had made it clear a long time ago that they did not care for Kiyoomi. In conclusion, they would not care whether he ever found his Betrothed or not. They would not care if he ever ascended or stayed in "his place" on Earth. This was a punishment, after all. And what was a millennia of suffering if it was all over too quickly? 

Kiyoomi unraveled himself.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would find that boy. 

He would have all the answers to his questions, then.

* * *

The problem with finding a teenaged boy in Osaka was that there were a lot of people in Osaka, many of whom were teenaged boys.

Kiyoomi often found himself looking too closely at large groups of teenage boys. It was borderline creepy, even he had to admit. If he wasn't careful, someone would seriously report him to the police.

Motoya found the entire thing amazing, as per usual.

"Deserved," Motoya commented with a snicker as some old ladies threw the two of them dirty looks.

"Shut up," Kiyoomi slapped him across the chest, surveying the area. "Do you ever want me to ascend?"

"Depends," Motoya replied, "Do you _want_ to ascend?"

Without even a second of thought, Kiyoomi answered, "Yes."

Motoya shrugged. "Okay, then, stop being creepy. Otherwise, one of those elderly ladies is gonna take it upon herself to call the police on you."

Kiyoomi shot Motoya a look. "If she reports me then you'll get reported as my accomplice, dumbass."

Motoya's expression froze on his face, as if he hadn't thought of that before. 

Meekly, he defended in a weak voice, "No."

Kiyoomi's eyes traveled over the crowd, making it seem like he was searching for someone in particular. "Yes, you idiot."

"Well, I guess we'll just have our hands full erasing all those memories, huh?" Motoya joked. 

Kiyoomi regarded him with a side eye. "Motoya, do you enjoy doing extra work while you're on vacation?"

His companion's face scrunched up. "Absolutely not."

"Then. Shut. Up." Kiyoomi enunciated. 

"Roger, roger," Motoya mock saluted him. 

They carried on down Osaka streets for the better half of the day. There had been many close calls with Kiyoomi nearly biting down on his own tongue or tripping over his own feet at his own abrupt stops as heads of blonde hair entered his sightlines.

Motoya was no help, but Kiyoomi had brought him along more so for company than anything else. Besides, he hadn't seen the boy himself ever, what good would sending him out do?

Of course, when Motoya was involved, everything erupted into chaos. Every time he caught sight of a blonde head, Motoya was _hounding_ him, tugging at his sleeve, pointing, shouting overexcitedly like a small puppy. It drove Kiyoomi nearly up the wall, desperate to get away from such public and blatant displays of lack of self-regard. 

"This isn't working," Kiyoomi sighed as they sat on a park bench after hours of walking around.

"You're even more of a moron than I assumed if you seriously thought you could go out today and find that kid wandering around," Motoya said, leaning back against the backrest of the bench.

Kiyoomi scowled at him.

Motoya continued, "He probably took one look at your face and convinced himself to never leave his house again." 

Kiyoomi's expression blackened.

Motoya snickered, snapping his fingers in Kiyoomi's face, "That's the one!" 

"I hate you," Kiyoomi muttered.

"If only," Motoya said in retaliation.

Kiyoomi responded with a hum.

The day was nice enough: with powder blue skies and cotton fluff white clouds weaving the sun in and out of their embrace; it was perfect excursion weather. There was relatively no wind, so most people were comfortable walking around outside. With that in mind, Kiyoomi had hoped to happen upon the teenager, easily identifiable with that wildly inappropriate hair and tall stature. No such luck, however. They would have to keep looking.

"Here's what we're going to do," Kiyoomi told Motoya. "We're going to separate. You're going to go one way, I'm going to go the other. Look for a tall teenager with brown eyes, tanned skin, and grotesque blonde hair, mustard color."

"Mustard, got it," Motoya grinned.

"Send me pictures if you see anyone matching that description." As Motoya opened his mouth to complain, Kiyoomi cut him off. "I don't care if anyone thinks you look like a pedophile. Just cloak yourself if you're that scared of being seen. But we're doing little good being together. We can cover more ground this way."

Motoya wrinkled his nose in disgust, but complied with Kiyoomi's directions. 

"You owe me," Motoya pointed a finger at him, eyes narrowed to mean business. "Once you ascend, you're doing my paperwork. For a hundred years."

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. "Just go."

Motoya stabbed the finger in his direction for emphasis before turning the other way and walking off.

Kiyoomi sighed. Back to hunting.

After scouting some popular hang outs for teenagers (with a couple of them calling him out and him promptly going invisible to visit the other locations and not be detected) only to come up empty-handed and rejecting all of the pictures Motoya sent him, Kiyoomi was beginning to lose patience. He was tired, god or not, and starting to feel the gnawing hunger of his stomach become more and more prominent. 

In the end, he walked into a convenience store and bought some of his favorite pickled plum candies.

Kiyoomi might have been a god, but he still treasured his human vices.

He was just walking out of the convenience store when someone entering bumped into him.

The first thing Kiyoomi registered was atrociously dyed hair. Damaged and fried beyond repair, it moved stiffly like someone had put far too much gel in it. After that was the water color blush of ruddy, round cheeks, complimenting the honeyed brown of large, hooded eyes. Thirdly, Kiyoomi watched as recognition flared on a distinctly boyish face, only just showing the signs of maturation. Lastly, almost peripheral to it all, was the strange sensation of betrayal. The fact that some _mortal_ was actually _touching_ him. 

No one touched him. Ever. As an immortal, Kiyoomi made sure of it.

But here was this boy, brazenly pressed flush against him, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.

The boy's face fell flat. "Oh, 's you."

Kiyoomi pursed his mouth in displeasure. "Despite what you might think, I assure you I'm not following you." 

The boy crossed his arms over his chest. Well built, as Kiyoomi's eyes flicked down to them quickly before refocusing on his face. There was a haughty, unamused look on his face, chin tipped back to stare down at Kiyoomi along the bridge of his nose. "That so? How'd ya explain all these meetin's then?"

Kiyoomi was taller than the boy, and so straightened his figure now to look down at _him_. "Chance?" 

The boy turned his face to the side, scoffing. "Seriously?"

"Usually I'd blame fate, but today I actually was looking for you," Kiyoomi confessed.

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? For what?"

Kiyoomi jerked his chin outside the store's glass doors. "Why don't we take a walk?"

The boy's face took on an expression of incredulity. "Ya serious? Why would I follow a stranger?"

 _At least he's not stupid,_ Kiyoomi thought to himself.

"I'm a god," Kiyoomi said, "If I really wanted to hurt you, don't you think I'd have done it already?"

"Not the biggest fan of that argument, actually," the boy disagreed. "Just means I didn't give ya enough opportunities ta hurt me."

It was Kiyoomi's turn to raise an eyebrow. Maybe he had underestimated this human.

"Sentiment still holds true," Kiyoomi pointed out. "I haven't hurt you."

The boy's face still seemed uncertain.

"You want to learn about the Goblin, don't you?" Kiyoomi showed his hand, offering his last bargaining chip. "I can answer your questions." 

The boy seemed taken aback for a moment before suspicion resurfaced again. "What's in it for ya?"

"If I answer your questions," Kiyoomi bartered, "you answer mine first."

A side of the boy's lip curled. "That doesn't sound like a fair trade. What if I answer your questions and ya kill me anyways?"

"Like I said before," Kiyoomi said stoically, "I have no reason to kill you. I just want answers. And you are the only person who can provide them."

The boy seemed to contemplate. After moments of consideration, he nodded once in consent, responding. "Fine. But if you try anything funny, I'm banishing yer ass."

An involuntary smile tucked up a corner of Kiyoomi's mouth. He couldn't fault the youngster for trying. "I'd like to see you try."

The boy seemed like he was ready to start a fight, but Kiyoomi nodded him to the side, allowing some customers to enter the establishment. 

Kiyoomi watched them walk in from the corner of his eye. How long had the two of them been standing there in the entrance, blocking the doors? He had never been one to draw unnecessary attention to himself, often resulting in exhaustive efforts for him to cover his tracks and regain his anonymity. It was one of the reasons he had lost touch with mortals throughout the years; it was dangerous to give himself away, but it was also incredibly demanding too. It seemed the only time anyone ever believed in a god was so they could gain something from it.

When was the last time he had been so intent on a mortal to lose all track of sense in the moving world?

"Well?" the boy asked. "Are we goin' or what?"

Kiyoomi blinked out of his stupor. "Yes. Let's go."

He set a punishing pace, Motoya liked to call it. When he was particularly preoccupied, only the most instinctual parts remained in his active conscious, resulting in his pace becoming brutal what with long legs and a detachment for slow moving things.

Like time.

Both too slow and too fast.

"So," the boy started heedfully. "What'cha want to know?"

Kiyoomi came screeching to a full stop, causing the boy to nearly collide into him from behind. 

"Whoa, dude, are you okay?" The boy asked, startled.

"Can you see it?" Kiyoomi demanded.

The boy blinked. "What?" 

"Something in particular," Kiyoomi coaxed. "About my body, perhaps."

The boys face scrunched up. "Uh, you're tall? Taller than me. How tall are ya, exactly?"

Kiyoomi glared. "That doesn't answer my question."

The boy grinned cheekily. "You didn't answer mine either." He cupped his chin in his hand, looking at Kiyoomi analytically. "I'm gonna guess six-three. I'm just past six foot now, but I still have a couple years 'til I'm done growing. Maybe I'll surpass ya in the future."

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes at such childish banter. He should have known better.

"So you aren't the Goblin's Betrothed," Kiyoomi deduced.

The boy's expression dropped for a second before it erupted in brilliant confusion. 

"What do ya mean?" he asked.

Kiyoomi felt a strange mixture of emotions rise within himself. The crippling sense of disappointment was most consuming. It felt like someone had inflated him with helium, only to take a sharp pick and pierce him through the lung with it. Alongside the disappointment, however, was something a little more vitalizing. Something that sung relief? Hope? Coursing through his blood, rejuvenating him, and causing his chest and limbs to feel more lax than they had been all day.

"Those ghosts lied to you," Kiyoomi explained. "There isn't anything about you that identifies you as the Goblin's Betrothed." 

The boy's face looked stricken. 

"Yer lyin'," he accused shakily.

Kiyoomi blinked flatly. "I wish I were."

There was something troubled on the boy's face. It nearly made Kiyoomi's chest ache from sympathy alone. But it was the honest truth. If the boy could not see his heart, he was not the one. 

"Well, what do you know?" the boy shouted. "You're just some measly god! You weren't around when they said those things to me." 

"And you are only a child." Kiyoomi observed. "You whole-heartedly believed that you were a Goblin's Betrothed because both benevolent and malevolent spirits convinced you of something far beyond your scope of understanding." 

An angry flush rose onto the boy's cheeks. They puffed out with air, like he was either holding himself from screaming profanity at Kiyoomi or preventing himself from crying. 

"It's not your fault," Kiyoomi said dully, "They must have mistaken you for someone else."

The teenager would not meet his eyes. 

"I'm sorry," Kiyoomi spoke softly, with pity now in his voice, "it must be hard to understand after all these years. Don't fret. There are others like you. You can still live a happy life." 

The blonde boy still said nothing. Only stared down at his feet. 

Kiyoomi didn't know what to do. He was sure that he had just rocked this poor mortal's entire sense of self after so many years of being called the Goblin's Betrothed. Hopefully, he would come to understand that being a normal human being was actually beneficial for him. 

Kiyoomi awkwardly inclined his head in a goodbye. "That's all I have to say. I hope you live peacefully."

With that, he walked a couple of steps away from the boy. 

He turned around once, simply to make sure he had not completely broken the poor human boy. 

He hadn't. 

The blonde picked up his head, did not turn to look after Kiyoomi, and started to walk back the direction he had come before running into him.

Kiyoomi sighed out in relief.

For a second there, he was scared he would have to erase the boy's entire memory of him. What a hassle that would have been. 

He turned back to the road, pulling out his phone from his pocket. 

"Motoya," Kiyoomi said as the line connected. "Yeah. I found him."


	4. Proof of Concept

"So he really wasn't the one, huh?" Motoya whistled. "Damn."

Kiyoomi did nothing but hum in response. 

The strange guilty/relieved/disappointed feeling hadn't quite left him since he had walked away from the human boy. 

"The gods really are cruel to you, Kiyoomi," Motoya observed.

Kiyoomi looked at his other godling from the corner of his eye.

Motoya was staring up at the starry night, both arms cradling the back of his head, looking completely and utterly comfortable in his immortality and place in the universe. 

Kiyoomi had always struggled with finding where he fit in when he was above in the abyss. It made him question everything, threatening the seamless work the gods had done to create this world, and ultimately resulting in his demise and subsequent exile.

"It doesn't matter," Kiyoomi responded without an ounce of regret. "The gods are cruel to everyone. Their own pride is what led to humanity's need to be devoted to them in the first place."

Motoya's lips sloped up into a gentle smile. "Don't let them hear you say that. They may never let you back in with a comment like that."

Kiyoomi snorted. "It's not like I'm going back anytime soon."

Motoya turned his head to look at Kiyoomi, mood tangibly sobering. The expression on his face was oddly sad, clearly upset over Kiyoomi's suffering.

Kiyoomi looked forward, chin dipping down towards his chest, avoiding Motoya's poignant eyes. "Ah, Motoya. You shouldn't worry over this old goblin so much. I've lived this way almost my entire life. It's not so bad."

Emotionally, voice beseeching, Motoya said, "I've tried talking the gods into letting you back in so many times, believe me. But I feel like they don't even take me seriously."

Kiyoomi met Motoya's eyes.

"It is not you who they don't take seriously," Kiyoomi said.

Motoya looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You mean you don't know?" Kiyoomi snarked, "The gods couldn't care less about a little, useless deity who isn't subservient."

Motoya's expression registered disbelief at first, before ducking down in shame.

Softly, he asked, "Kiyoomi. If you hate the gods so much, why do you want to return to the beyond so bad?"

Kiyoomi couldn't fault him for asking. Sometimes, he himself wondered why he wanted to return to the gods who only used those lesser than them for their own pleasure while scorning them all in the same breath. Even if that was so, the beyond had been more of a home to him in the childhood he spent growing up there than Earth had ever been over the course of his lifetime here.

Motoya, his only family and the only thing to have kept him alive for so long, was back in the abyss. How could Kiyoomi live without him as he had the past nine hundred years, making do with minor, too-quick visits? How would Motoya fare without him, living eternity with no one by his side to shoulder the burden of being one half of a duo of despised half-gods?

That was not all. Kiyoomi's life, his memories, his comforts and warmth, all resided back in the abyss. 

Not to mention a vital part of his soul still remained back in the beyond. It had been stolen from him so he could descend to this alien and foreign earth in the first place.

And Kiyoomi wanted it back.

He answered simply, "So every ounce of suffering and pain I've had to endure in these past nine hundred years I can return upon them tenfold. I want to return home, Motoya. There's nothing left on Earth for me besides the torment of a world passing by without me."

Motoya nodded solemnly.

After a pleasant enough dinner later that evening, both of them retired to their rooms early. Motoya hadn't put up a fight, which was a relief, but the troubled look behind his eyes told Kiyoomi a very different story about his inner workings. But that was for Motoya to work out in the privacy of his room; Kiyoomi would not dwell on it. The day had been weary and taxing on both of them and the exhausting disappointment combined with such heavy conversation before their meal had drained the both of them more than they realized. 

Which was why Kiyoomi could not, for the life of him, understand why he could not fall asleep.

Behind his closed eyelids, all he saw was the crestfallen expression of a young boy whose entire world Kiyoomi had turned upside down and shattered.

Kiyoomi tossed and turned, frustrated at the prospect of _another_ fitful night of sleep because of the same stupid mortal. One who was not even his _betrothed_. 

_Enough,_ Kiyoomi thought, sweeping the sheets off of himself and going downstairs to drink some warm, calming tea. 

He would not let a child, a _human_ _child_ , keep him up all night. He would not slave over such a minor inconvenience, really nothing more than a hitch, that had been placed in the boy's path.

 _It's not my fault,_ Kiyoomi thought. _He deserved to know the truth. That's all I was doing: telling him the truth._

Then why did it bother him so much to see the boy so unhappy? Mortals often were, as Kiyoomi had witnessed in his many, many years on Earth. Always reaching out for the unobtainable, and always ending up chagrined because of it. Either that or becoming completely corrupt and tainted if they happened to succeed. What fickle creatures humans were. It was too much for such a weary god.

Yet, Kiyoomi let it get to him. It shouldn't have mattered to him so much. It shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. The boy was a mere mortal, nothing extraordinary about him at all. 

Why, then, did the empty cavity in his chest ache so much thinking about his expression?

 _Get a grip,_ Kiyoomi thought to himself. _You're finally losing it, being gone from the abyss for so long._

Maybe that was it. He was losing his otherworldly touch. Humanity had gone so far as to sully him to near ruin. Kiyoomi couldn't even look at one finite creature and feel unemotional anymore.

 _I should return to the abyss soon,_ Kiyoomi thought. _Before it's too late for me._

The thought soothed him only slightly.

In order to return to his home above, he had to find his betrothed down here first.

* * *

Atsumu could describe it as no less than a personal attack.

Who did that god think he was, telling Atsumu he wasn't the Goblin's Betrothed? What did he know? Granted, gods usually knew a lot, if not everything, so maybe he _was_ telling the truth, but Atsumu would not accept it until the bitter end. His entire life had been forged around the fact that he was, indeed, the Goblin's Betrothed. He wasn't gonna let some low tier, gloomy-assed, hunched back demigod tell him who he was.

Instead, Atsumu would research himself.

It seemed counterintuitive. There was a god at the ready to answer all of his questions, but Atsumu didn't trust him. The guy seemed hellbent on trying to persuade Atsumu of a fact he had grown up defending. Because if he was not the Goblin's Betrothed, what had he spent the entirety of his life protecting himself from? Why was he able to see ghosts? Why did he always have to worry about his future, his misfortune?

If he was not the Goblin's Betrothed, what was he? 

It occupied his mind more than it should have. That stupid god had gotten into his head, distracting Atsumu at practice. He missed balls, the trajectory alternatively smacking the crown of his head instead of gliding off his fingertips since he was so distracted. Occasionally, his eyes glazed over, head foggy with the words of that god repeating over and over again: _You're not the Goblin's Betrothed, You're not the Goblin's Betrothed, You're not the Goblin's Betrothed..._

So when Atsumu was not at practice, he was in the public library.

Any books, any papers, any theories he could get his hands on about the Goblin, Atsumu devoured. 

There wasn't much to work from. Everything he read about goblins was lore, never mentioning a betrothed in any line. 

Days went by. The same routine: wake up, eat a hardy breakfast while scrolling through his phone trying to find information, head out to practice and tame his clumsiness where he could, trying his hardest to prove himself to the team with the added handicap of a grouchy god's words working against him, listen to his teammates correct him while shoveling something or another in his mouth, then heading to the library where he spent the rest of his evenings searching the shelves or staring too hard at a computer screen. 

Bleary eyed in the back of the public library one day, slaving over countless words and texts until he was cross eyed, Atsumu was just about ready to give up. 

"Maybe I shoulda just asked a ghost," he murmured to himself.

A lightbulb went off in his head.

Atsumu scouted out the darkest, dingiest, most secluded alleyways in Osaka. He had learned throughout his adolescence that while dimly lit, spooky spaces weren't always home to spirits and the like. They were often good starting points in trying to find what you wanted, though.

Something moved to his left, just out of range of his eyesight.

Atsumu turned, "Hey."

It was an older man, looking world-weary, features exaggerated by his immortality. There were dark, almost black, bags under his eyes which resembled the black pits of his eyes on his ghastly white face. His hair was thin, flopping loosely over his balding head. He wore business attire, a suit and nice shoes, but looked extremely sad. Atsumu almost felt bad for him. Why did he linger, when he could move on and rest for all of eternity now?

The ghost barely acknowledged him. 

Atsumu shuffled over uncertainly. "You can understand me, can't ya?"

The business man nodded slowly. 

Atsumu brightened. "Good! I have a question I gotta ask ya."

The ghost didn't react. 

"All you ghosties always say the same thing. That I'm the Goblin's Betrothed." Atsumu watched the ghost closely. "Am I Goblin's Betrothed?"

Slowly, the ghost nodded again.

Atsumu outright grinned. "Great! Can ya tell me what that means?"

The ghost released a groaning noise, as if it were disagreeing with Atsumu.

He frowned. "Why not?"

The ghost shook his head, lifting his shoulders in a helpless motion.

Atsumu could feel frustration burn under his skin. "Whatcha mean you don't know what it is?" 

The ghost didn't reply.

"That's impossible! Where'd ya even hear or see that I was the Goblin's Betrothed to begin with?" Atsumu asked.

The ghost moaned quietly, as if tentative about divulging such information.

"A god?" Atsumu repeated, taken aback. "You mean a hunch backed, grouchy, black haired god?"

The ghost shook his head.

Atsumu's blood boiled.

"Then which god?!" Atsumu shouted, exasperated, throwing his hands up into the air.

The ghost promptly vanished, disintegrating like sand into the breeze.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Atsumu cried out, enraged.

He turned back towards the main road, all the while grumbling to himself, "Stupid powers, and just as I was gettin' to the good part too. Stupid god, tellin' me I'm not the Goblin's Betrothed, makin' my head go all crazy. Who does he think he is? And why doesn't anyone know what any of this means? What's everyone been doin', not researchin' this stuff?"

Atsumu tossed and turned in bed later that night, not even fitful sleep dragging him down into the blackness of a restless slumber.

 _Damn that god,_ Atsumu thought bitterly. _Thinks he knows everythin'. Maybe he should tell me what the Goblin's Betrothed is, since he's so sure I'm not it._

Atsumu's eyes widened.

"Holy shit!" he whispered as he sat up in bed. "I just gotta ask him! He told me before that he'd answer all my questions." 

Then, pensively, "But how do I find him?"

Atsumu recalled their conversation the first time they met. The god had said that Atsumu had _summoned_ him. But how? Had his thoughts called upon the reclusive god? Or had his feelings somehow reached the great god, drawing him to Atsumu like moth to flame? What if it was both? Or some other combination that Atsumu hadn't thought about?

 _Tomorrow,_ he thought. A smile on his face as he rested his cheek on the soft down of his pillow. _Tomorrow I'll figure it out._

Unsurprisingly, he did not have it all figured out.

He didn't have it all figured out in the passing few days, either.

His summoning of the god must have been an isolated event because after that first time, Atsumu was unable to call upon the god again.

His emotions nor his thoughts had any luck at calling upon the mysterious god. Many times he would call out through his thoughts or try to replicate the emotions he had felt that day in the park to no use. Every time he tried to summon the god, there wasn't anything out of the ordinary in the slightest to convince Atsumu he was even doing anything productive. 

After all of the failed attempts at enticing the god out of hiding, Atsumu's inner thoughts went wild. Had the god seriously blocked Atsumu out so he couldn't reach him? Had he gone away somewhere that Atsumu was unable to reach him from? Had he even been the one to summon the god, despite his conviction that it could be no other but Atsumu? Would he ever meet that god again and learn about such an integral, yet unknown part of himself?

After a tough morning of practice where Atsumu's knees and thighs hurt from all the squatting and receiving drills, he sat at his favorite park bench, sighing and trying one last time to summon the stubborn deity he could not get out of his head.

 _Maybe there's something special about this place,_ Atsumu mused. _Maybe if I'm here, he'll come._

Atsumu remembered the particularly fond expression on the god's face as he gazed at the handful of bloomed trees. He wondered if maybe there was some hidden, underground shrine dedicated to the moody godling that might call him to this place. Or maybe he was simply tethered to the park, unable to resist its otherworldly pull. Maybe he just liked the flowers. 

Atsumu snorted at the thought.

A man walked by him as he stared off into space. As he passed, he dropped a barely lit cigarette down onto the ground by Atsumu's feet. The cigarette rolled and eventually caught on the corner of a cluster of dry, fallen leaves. Almost instantly, one of the leaves went up in flames, startling Atsumu.

Atsumu jumped up from his seat, shouting "Hey!" after the man, though he did not stop or turn around. 

Cautiously Atsumu picked up the burning leaf and blew out the small flame, stomping out the cigarette still faintly glowing on the ground.

"Fuckin' litterer," Atsumu swore under his breath. "Hope the street cams caught yer ass. Serves ya right litterin' here."

Leaning over the back of the bench, Atsumu tossed the burnt leaf into the stream, watching as the black char of the plant body twirled in circles as it descended, sinking down into the navy depths of the water once it landed.

"What are you doing?"

Atsumu froze, something supernatural running down the contour of his spine like electricity.

He whipped his head around.

An unamused, brooding man stood behind Atsumu, arms crossed over his chest as he blinked back at him with obsidian eyes.

"You!" Atsumu cried.

It was the god. 

He had arrived.

* * *

Kiyoomi sighed impatiently, staring back at the flustered boy.

Yet again, he had been summoned. By the same goddamn boy Kiyoomi could not wash out of his mind like an ugly blood stain upon cotton clothing, no matter how hard he tried.

There was something about this boy. Something that made every hair on Kiyoomi's body stand on end and every nerve on his skin tingle like live wire. He hated it, how aware he was of this mortal. Like there was something special about him when Kiyoomi had already confirmed that he could not see his heart.

"What do you want?" Kiyoomi asked.

The boy floundered, twisting around in his seat to face Kiyoomi.

"I have a bone to pick with ya!" Atsumu said, pointing a finger at Kiyoomi's face.

Kiyoomi raised a condescending eyebrow. "Oh?"

The boy stood. He took a step closer to Kiyoomi. Since their last interaction, Kiyoomi had nearly forgotten just how tall the teenager was. There was only a couple of inches between their heights, but Kiyoomi was fully developed, all lean muscle and broad shoulders. The blonde had yet to totally fill out, still awkward limbs and knobby joints, and Kiyoomi supposed he would become even broader than Kiyyomi himself when he fully developed, although he was definitely more toned than the regular teenager.

Of course, that meant very little to Kiyoomi if they did fight. This was a mortal. Should Kiyoomi choose, he could eradicate him and his entire bloodline in the matter of a second. _If_ he was stupid enough to try anything.

The boy stepped close, almost too close. He was on the fringe of a delicate boundary, toeing the line like an insolent child trying to push their luck, though he remained rather unconscious of his actions. Strangely, instead of focusing on that pressing fact, other senses started to cloud Kiyoomi's judgement.

Kiyoomi could feel the warmth radiate off of the boy. It was surprisingly nice to a god who only knew the cold of his former abyss and often times the cold of his own body, lacking something essential for basic survival, acting and often times feeling like an empty shell.

The boy's honey brown eyes burned hot. "Ya told me I wasn't the Goblin's Betrothed."

A jolt went through Kiyoomi's body. 

"That's true," he confirmed.

The boy tilted his head to the side, inspecting Kiyoomi from an angle. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How exactly do ya know that?"

"I am a god," Kiyoomi stated simply, "I know many things."

"Oh, yeah?" The boy pressed. "What kind of god are ya?"

Kiyoomi steadily met the boy's eyes. "A god of many things."

"You got a shrine?" 

Kiyoomi shrugged, eyes breaking away for a second. "I do and I don't. Sometimes."

The boy frowned. "How's that even possible?"

"It simply is." Kiyoomi said. "Why do you ask?"

A feral grin tugged up the side of the boy's mouth. "Wanted to see what kinda god ya were to tell me I'm not the Goblin's Betrothed."

Kiyoomi's eyes narrowed. If only this boy knew. "Do not underestimate my power, human. I might be a lesser god, but I'm still a god no less. So I'd be very careful what I said if I was you."

The blonde grinned cheekily, raising his hands in an attempt to assuage Kiyoomi's flaring temper. "Hey, I never said ya weren't a god. I just wanna know what makes ya think I'm not the Goblin's Betrothed."

"It is not something I think," Kiyoomi said, "It's something I know."

The blonde boy tilted his head. "But how?"

Dismissively, Kiyoomi replied, "In ways a mere mortal would not understand."

The boy made a dejected face. 

Strangely enough, it made Kiyoomi's heart leap up into his throat, nealy sick with the beginnings of guilt.

"You otherworldlies are so mean," the boy pouted, sniffing indignantly. "You never tell me nothin'."

"Sometimes it is better you do not know," Kiyoomi offered. 

"I don't think that works in this case," the boy argued. "If people are tellin' me I'm the Goblin's Betrothed since I was a baby, don'tcha think it's in my right to know why?"

Kiyoomi couldn't fault him for that. He supposed if he was a human, he'd want to know why too. It was not easy for a human brain to grasp the concept of the world just _being_ , without any rhyme or reason. They always needed to know _why_ and _how_ , unsatisfied without a tangible answer. 

"I've told you why," Kiyoomi said. "It's because you do not see something."

"About you?" The boy asked. "Why would I need to see something about you if you're not the goblin?"

Irritation and frustration both clawed at Kiyoomi under his skin. 

"What if I was the goblin?" Kiyoomi asked. "Then what?"

The boy blinked back at him. "Well, that wouldn't make ya a god, would it? It'd make you a goblin." 

Kiyoomi could have screamed.

The boy looked at him critically, continuing on, "Although, that does make me curious. What does a goblin look like? All the stuff I read didn't mention it. Just said they were spirit-like and not at the same time. Do ya know?"

Gruffly, Kiyoomi replied, "I'm sure they look just like you and me."

"Hmm, I hope so," the boy smiled teasingly. "I'd hate to marry an ugly gremlin lookin' creature."

All the air seemed to disappear from Kiyoomi's lungs, making it suddenly hard to breathe at that confession.

"That's _if_ I decide to marry him. Or her. Or it." The boy looked up at him with inquisitive eyes. "Say, do ya know what the goblin is like? Have ya ever met 'em?" 

Kiyoomi could have choked.

"I don't see how that's relevant," Kiyoomi blurted out instead. "As you're not the Goblin's Betrothed."

The light dimmed within those golden eyes. Kiyoomi almost felt a little bad for being so blunt, but then again, it was the honest truth. Why should he feel sorry for saying it?

"Maybe, maybe not," the boy said, backbone straightening stubbornly, chin jutting out in defiance. "But then what am I, if I'm able to see you?"

"If I allow it, like in this moment," Kiyoomi answered, "then I'd say a normal person." 

The boy smiled arrogantly, eyes crinkling just so. "As if. I have a god at my beck and call. I _must_ be supernatural." 

Kiyoomi glared. "I am _not_ at your beck and call. You _summoned_ me. On _accident_."

"Until I figure out how to do it for real!" The boy vowed. "Then yer ass is mine."

Kiyoomi shuddered unpleasantly.

"Like a guardian god." The boy snapped his fingers, looking excited. "That's what you'll be! My guardian angel. Although, you aren't much of an angel, are ya?"

The boy's eyes swept down Kiyoomi's entirely black outfit. Thick sweater, dark jeans, black dress shoes. Looking like some dour avenger, death personified.

Kiyoomi scowled.

"Not very angelic, I'd say," the boy grinned, bold and impudent. "You should try more white. Might make ya appear more holy."

Kiyoomi turned away from the boy, rolling his eyes. "Try not to call me again. It's annoying." 

And with a strong gust of wind, making tears spring up into the boy's bright eyes, the deity was gone.

* * *

The next time Kiyoomi was summoned, he was barely even awake.

Bleary eyed and nauseous from a sudden jerk through dimensions and planes of the universe while he was supposed to be sleeping, Kiyoomi appeared before the boy. It was dark out, the stars and moon illuminating the backstreet alleyway along with the dim, white light of an overhead lamp post. The boy was watching at him with a surprised expression, appearing comically caught as he held a lighter up to his mouth, dressed in jeans and a hoodie, looking bedraggled. 

Grouchy, Kiyoomi stated, "That's a bad habit. You should kick it before you end up dead."

The boy grinned wide. "Look at you, already fulfilling your guardian angel duties."

Instead of arguing, Kiyoomi merely asked, "Why are you out so late?"

"It's not even that late," the boy argued. 

Kiyoomi shot him an incredulous look. "It's almost two in the morning."

The boy's expression became a little sheepish. "I didn't mean ta call ya. I had a practice go late and just wasn't able to go to sleep after. Sorry, it was an accident, I swear." 

Kiyoomi snorted, "Well, no surprise there. It isn't like you've discovered how to do it otherwise."

A sharp, competitive gleam rose up in the boy's golden eyes, unnaturally shining under the light of the street and moon. "Just ya wait. I'll figure it out in no time."

"I'm sure," Kiyoomi agreed sardonically. 

The two of them lapsed into silence.

Under the light, Kiyoomi could see the boy's awful, mustard colored hair flop over his forehead haphazardly, mused up in the back like he had tossed and turned too many times before eventually giving up on the thought of sleep and inadvertently calling upon Kiyoomi. His eyes seemed a little sunken in, like these times of happenings were a frequent occasion, lying awake most nights, unable to sleep. Even the smile on his face was drooping, only half-hearted opposed to its usual energetic, provocative manner. 

Kiyoomi could feel that same bizarre guilt gnawing at the bottom of his stomach, scratching a path up his throat. No, maybe it was the horrible consequences of a sudden time jump, these physical symptoms that he couldn't entirely rid himself of. And if he really thought hard on it, he could convince himself that that was true; that instead of feeling for this mortal, his body was bearing the brunt of his travel, induced because of him.

But Kiyoomi could only lie to himself so much. Were those sleepless nights caused by him? Because he had upended this fragile boy's life with the utter truth, clumsily delivered, but necessary in evil?

"Do you want to walk?" Kiyoomi found himself asking before he could stop himself.

"Walk?" the boy parroted back to him, surprised.

The heat of uncomfortability and embarrassment burned the back of his neck. "You said you couldn't sleep. And now I'm here, awake as well. Might as well take advantage of this night."

A grin curled the side of the boy's mouth, his fringe twitching with the crinkling of his eyes. "Yeah, sure. I could go for a walk."

The walk was spent mostly in silence, peaceful in the sounds surrounding them. Besides their footsteps, there was the vague rustle of a stray cat or the distant roar of a car on the road, or the constant, ambient buzz of buildings and people and the world.

The boy kept pace with him, unsurprising as he was nearly the same height, but was shockingly quiet. He simply fell into step beside Kiyoomi, wordless, arms cradling the back of his head, eyes heavy lidded, aside from when he stared up at the still, clear night sky. 

All of a sudden, the boy asked, "What's yer name?"

Kiyoomi stopped. The boy stopped two steps ahead and turned back to look at him.

"What? Don't got a name?" The boy asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Why do you ask?" Kiyoomi replied instead.

The blonde shrugged. "Just making conversation."

Kiyoomi contemplated his options. He had never told a mortal his name before, his real name, his given name. Doing so could've been dangerous. Often time a name was easy to use over an immortal. How many times had the higher gods commanded him by using his real name? How many times had he succumbed to their power because he was helpless over their authority? How many times had he suffered at their hands because to say his real name was to bind him completely? 

"Sorry, didn't realize it was that sore of a subject." The boy said, looking at Kiyoomi sympathetically. 

Kiyoomi shot him a hard look. "It's not."

"Hmm? Then what? Shy?" the boy grinned cheekily. 

Kiyoomi scoffed, shaking his head.

"Well, I'm Atsumu. Miya Atsumu. Eighteen, pro volleyball player, probably gonna be in the Olympics soon since I'm _that_ good," he grinned cheekily at Kiyoomi. 

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, grumbling, "I only needed a name, not an entire life history."

The boy, Atsumu, smiled cockily. "Might need it one day when ya see me on the TV in Rio or somethin'."

Kiyoomi snorted. 

"What about ya?" he inquired, jerking his chin in Kiyoomi's direction.

Kiyoomi still hesitated.

Atsumu gave him a couple of seconds to gather himself, astonishingly patient. When Kiyoomi still said nothing after the allotted time, Atsumu shrugged, turning back around to resume the walk, whistling as the hands behind his head scratched at his unruly bedhead.

Kiyoomi blew out a breath. What was he so afraid of? This mortal who couldn't even see his heart. There was nothing to fear. It was stupid. What could he possibly do if he _did_ know Kiyoomi's name, anyways? The boy had no powers; he was remarkable in no way worth scrutinizing so closely. And _Kiyoomi_ was the god. A mere human had no power over him. 

"Can you really not see it?" Kiyoomi called out.

Atsumu stopped ahead, turning back to gaze at him. "What?"

"Do you really not see it?" he repeated. "A certain part of my body?"

The teenage boy, Atsumu, looked properly exasperated. "If it ain't as clear as the nose on your face than, no, I can't see it." 

Kiyoomi nodded slowly, taking that information in.

Finally, he met Atsumu's frighteningly bright, brown eyes. "Sakusa Kiyoomi."

"Sakusa Kiyoomi?" Atsumu repeated, nose wrinkling. "That's such an old man name."

Kiyoomi frowned at him.

At his reaction, Atsumu laughed, saying, "Don't make such a face, guardian angel, people might get the wrong impression 'bout ya. I like it, though. Suits ya."

"I'm not sure I like what you're implying," Kiyoomi muttered darkly.

Atsumu chuckled. "Well, you _are_ a god. Aren't you, like, timeless?"

Kiyoomi glared. "If you're trying to be delicate about the word 'old', you're failing miserably."

Atsumu grinned impishly. "Look at ya, grandpa. Caught on so fast."

The great god shot out a hand to smack Atsumu, realizing only in hindsight how much damage he could have inflicted if his immortal hand had hit, but the boy only danced away from him, snickering like a naughty schoolboy as he remained just beyond Kiyoomi's reach.

"Don't think you can get me that easily," Atsumu teased. "I grew up with a twin. Makes sneak attacks not so sneaky, even if yer a god."

"Mmm. I used to know a thing or two about sneak attacks back in my day." Kiyoomi mumbled to himself.

"Now who's agin' themselves, huh?" the blonde continued, jabbing. 

Kiyoomi opened his mouth to retort when a big yawn overtook him. He covered his mouth with a hand, eyes squeezing shut on their own. When Kiyoomi reopened them, Atsumu was just coming out of a yawn himself. 

"I guess we should call it quits on our walk tonight," Atsumu said, blinking sleepily at Kiyoomi. 

Kiyoomi nodded, fatigue making his eyes start to burn.

Atsumu's eyes were heavy-lidded, doubly so as that was their natural state of being anyways, by the time they arrived back at Atsumu's apartment. 

"Thanks for the walk, guardian angel," Atsumu said as he unlocked the lobby door. 

"Just go to bed," Kiyoomi urged, already starting to sway on his feet. 

"Sure you'll get home safe?" Atsumu asked, only the slightest hint of concern worming into his tone.

Kiyoomi felt warmth surge through him at the note in Atsumu's voice.

That didn't stop him from raising a condescending eyebrow. "I'm a god, mortal. I'm more than adequate at getting myself home." 

Atsumu smiled, the expression especially boyish what with the fringe falling over his forehead and the grooves appearing at the corners of his mouth. "Suit yerself, Omi-kun." 

It was only when Kiyoomi was home, face-planting in bed did he realize. 

_Omi-kun._

The boy had called him Omi-kun. 

_What an insolent child,_ Kiyoomi thought before completely drifting off. 

* * *

The answer came to him in the middle of a post-season practice match. 

Atsumu was underneath a ball, eyes intense upon the blue and yellow of his _Mikasa_ volleyball, thighs burning with the strain of such a sustained squat as he tracked the trajectory of one of his wing spikers out of the corner of his eye when it hit him like a ball to the face, incredibly blunt and painfully obvious.

Not literally, though the ball he sent to Barnes certainly wasn't the best he had ever set to anyone.

The Jackals had clinched a hard fought win, neck and neck with the Hornets up until the last set, where they had drawn ahead by two points. The Deseo Hornets' setter, a year older than Atsumu himself and very familiar, shook his hand warmly, congratulated him on the win, on securing a contract with the Jackals, and for the bright future Atsumu was surely looking at ahead of him.

With a forced smile, Atsumu had thanked him, curt, before quickly making his way to the locker room.

He was bombarded in the locker room, however. Where Atsumu had wanted to rush through a blindingly hot shower and go test his theory out, the team had wanted to go to a local Shinto shrine in order to wish for luck and show the foreign members on the team around. Atsumu could have said no, but with the stern look Meian shot him as he opened his mouth, almost too obvious in his attempt to refuse like he usually did when group activities were brought up, Atsumu changed his tune, smiling his brightest smile and agreeing easily.

The team sat for a meal first. Atsumu did his best to appear interested, all smiles and jokes as per usual, but under his skin he could feel the crawling need to go. In the middle of the match, Atsumu had seen his lighter burning, the leaf alit in glorious flame, his birthday candles winking in and out in the early April wind. 

When he had blown them out each time, the candles, the leaf, the lighter, that god, Sakusa Kiyoomi, had appeared. Maybe if it had only happened once, twice, Atsumu could have dismissed it as a coincidence. But he knew a pattern when he saw it, like when a setter set up a ball to the team's playmaker over and over again when everyone else's spikes were shut down. A pattern never failed, volleyball or not. 

He knew how he was summoning Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Finally, after all of them had eaten, Atsumu nearly fidgeting out of his skin when they were paying that Inunaki, their libero, actually shoulder checked him to make sure he was alright, they headed to the shrine.

All of the foreigners were taken up the shrine's steps first, the native members all chattering excitedly, ringing the bell, clapping their hands, and praying to the Shinto gods above for good fortune and health throughout the year. Atsumu only went along with the motions, mind wandering as he pretended to pray, opening an eye to peek at his teammates, wondering if he would be noticed should he walk away. 

He was not given that opportunity. Most of his teammates opened their eyes at the same time, turning to check if everyone was done or not.

Atsumu sighed out impatiently.

He was elbowed into submission.

After everyone had finished praying, the foreign members had asked about visiting a Buddhist temple as well, to pay reverence to both of Japan's major religions. 

Atsumu could have thrown himself down the shrine's steep, stone steps at that given moment. 

The native members of the team agreed, excited once again, before leading the way to the temple. 

Atsumu lagged behind, hoping to melt in with the crowd and "accidentally" lose the rest of the team.

Unfortunately, Tomas threw an arm around Atsumu's neck, nearly suffocating him, though Atsumu was sure it wasn't on purpose but more so because of their height difference, encouraging him to keep moving along with the rest of the group.

Usually, Atsumu really liked the guy. He was friendly and kind, but in that moment, Atsumu wanted nothing more than to take the guy's arm and flip him over his shoulder.

At the Buddhist temple, they all tossed coins into the offering box, Atsumu ruefully watching his hard earned cash wash away in the sea of selflessly given tokens to the gods, thinking all the same that the gods surely didn't need money, they had created it, what a silly notion.

They stood before the temple statues, heads bent, hands pressed together in prayer. Atsumu looked around openly, horribly sacrilegious among the respectful piety of his team, favoring to look around at the near empty temple than pretend to pray in order to keep the peace.

All of the sudden, out of the corner of Atsumu's eye, he saw it.

Smoke.

A mischievous grin turned up the side of his mouth.

After all of them had prayed, Atsumu getting an earful from both Meian _and_ Foster surprisingly, the group purchased some bundles of incense. Openly lighting them, Tomas and Inunaki were laughing as they watched the smoke curl up into the air, wispy and quick to disperse. The older members of the group stood to the side, talking amongst themselves in a little circle, incense sticks held between two fingers like fine cigars, the smoke wafting up into the air as red hot embers tumbled into the large ash trays.

Atsumu smirked.

No one was paying attention to him.

Quick and quiet, he ventured away from the group and towards the back of the temple.

Pulling out his two incense sticks, he lit them with his lighter, watching as the flame took hold and they grew vermillion. 

Taking a deep breath, he blew them out.

Hopefully no one was watching because besides the dirty looks he would receive from blowing out his incense instead of letting it burn itself out, they'd notice the strange appearance of a man who hadn't been there before.

But it would be no man. More like someone they might be at the temple praying to.

After a couple of seconds, smoke started to swirl around a couple of stone steps below Atsumu. A nervous giddy drew knots in his stomach.

At last, an unimpressed Sakusa Kiyoomi stood before him, head cocked, eyebrow raised, arms crossed. In usual begrudging god fashion. 

"Hey there, angel," Atsumu greeted.

The god let out a frustrated sigh and asked him, "What do you want?"

"I've figured it out!" Atsumu shouted joyously. "How to summon you, I've figured it out!" 

With obvious deadpan, Kiyoomi said flatly, "That's why you called me here? What if I was doing something important?"

Atsumu waved a dismissive hand. "Nonsense, Omi-kun, what could be more important than this?"

Kiyoomi expression looked pinched, like he was suffering. "Okay, let's see it, then." 

Atsumu held out his burnt incense stick. "Blowin' out the flame. That's how I can call ya. Isn't that neat?"

The god's obsidian eyes took in his incense stick. A switch must have gone off at seeing the stark offering, as his eyes then veered to stare up at the Buddhist temple behind Atsumu. If possible, the black of his eyes darkened further, looking menacing under the dying evening light as he gazed with little reverence at the structure behind Atsumu. 

Atsumu continued blindly, smug, "Now that I've figured it out, whatcha gonna give me, Omi-kun?"

The god didn't say anything for a long time. 

Atsumu started to grow worried. The dark look on Sakusa Kiyoomi's face only sharpened the longer he stood staring at their surroundings. Atsumu wondered if he had even registered his words at all.

"Hey," Atsumu called, waving a hand in his face. "Ya there?"

In a low, menacing voice, Kiyoomi asked, "Is this the only reason you called me?"

Atsumu blinked. "Well, yeah. I told you I'd figure it out, didn't I?"

Shortly, Kiyoomi said, "Follow me."

Taken off guard, Atsumu asked, "Where?"

Kiyoomi shot a contemptuous look at the house of worship. "Anywhere that's not _here_." 

"What's wrong with here?" Atsumu couldn't help asking.

Hard, ebony eyes turned to Atsumu, the full force of their anger and resentment thrust upon him. "I'm not talking to you _here_ , in front of a temple. Not where _they_ can hear." 

Confused by the venom in Kiyoomi's tone, Atsumu wisely chose to remain silent and followed him down the stone steps of the temple, stopping on the sidewalk near the entrance gates.

With a definite edge to his voice, Sakusa Kiyoomi grit out, "Stop calling me."

Atsumu reeled back, alarmed. "What?"

"Stop calling me. I don't have the time nor the resources to answer the call of a teenaged brat like you," the god bit out, seething. 

Atsumu set his jaw, angry. "Now wait a second—"

"You've had your fun, wringing me through the wash, messing with me just because."

Atsumu sucked in a sharp breath. "I never did anythin' like that. Omi-kun, why—?"

The god's expression was impassive, carefully neutral. "Refrain from calling me such nicknames, mortal. You are a simple being, have some respect. We are not friends. As such, stop acting so familiarly towards me. I should have never engaged you in the first place, but that was my mistake."

Desperate, Atsumu shouted, "Would you just listen to me?" 

"You serve no purpose to me," Sakusa Kiyoomi continued, expression and voice tight, cold, "You're just another human, wasting my time and stripping me of my godliness. You're life has no meaning to me. I'm not your guardian angel or god or anything. You're not special, so stop calling me and acting like you are. I'm not your toy. I'm a god with greater things to worry about than you and your insufferable presence."

Atsumu stumbled backwards a step, hurt slashing through him. 

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Atsumu cried.

Sakusa Kiyoomi met his glare with infuriatingly even eyes. "I only entertained you because I thought you had something I needed. But no more. You're not the Goblin's Betrothed, so stop bothering me and focus on living your life."

Sakusa Kiyoomi threw one last disgusted look towards the temple before turning and walking down the sidewalk, away from Atsumu, the line of his back stiff and vastly different from the god Atsumu had encountered many times before. 

"Oh," Sakusa Kiyoomi said, stopping abruptly and looking at Atsumu over his shoulder. "A word of advise: stop praying to the gods. They aren't listening."

With that parting glance, Sakusa Kiyoomi burst into finely concealed smoke, no more than the entire length of incense had produced, before disappearing into the evening air.

Atsumu choked back his emotions.

 _What the hell?_ He thought.

"What the hell!" he shouted aggressively, pain raw and real in his voice.

"Atsumu?" he heard Meian calling him, surprise coloring his tone.

Atsumu stared down at the burnt incense stick like it was alien. He dropped it upon the stone path and kicked it savagely.

 _Damn god,_ he thought to himself. _What a rat bastard!_

The walk back home was uneventful, everyone winding down from the excursion that afternoon, conversation hushed and subdued. 

But Atsumu could only feel himself revving up.

He slammed the door closed to his apartment, tore his clothes off in a flurry, threw his blankets off his bed grandiosely before climbing in and swaddling himself in their comfort. He tried calling his mother first, to no avail. He tried Osamu after that, but it went straight to voicemail as well, the sound of his brother's voice loosening something up in his chest.

After throwing his phone across the room, feeling no less shitty in the aftermath, he cried.

* * *

Kiyoomi was sitting in his library, reading the latest volume of his journal as Motoya napped peacefully on the couch across from him. 

The everlasting guilt was gnawing a great, big hole inside of him.

He hadn't meant to act so vile towards the boy. Everything he had said, while true, had been a culmination of all of Kiyoomi's frustrations: his homesickness for the beyond, the stress of trying to find his betrothed, the rejection and frequent dismissal from the gods, and the sudden appearance of a boy with a vibrant, dandelion smile and sharp, intent lion eyes, more remarkable by the day. 

Kiyoomi wasn't sure what it was that had caused him to snap, as he was usually a deity known for control and restraint, but being near a house of god on top of being subjected to an arrogant smile from a boy who knew very little the suffering brought upon Kiyoomi by the higher gods for those very same reasons, he simply had. It had triggered him, being a pack mule for not only the gods, but now a human boy who was too smart for his own good.

Yet, behind his eyelids as he tried to sleep later that night, all that had surfaced to the forefront of his mind was the flash of that wounded expression on the boy's face.

He was just a boy, Kiyoomi should have known better.

Kiyoomi was a god, he should have acted better.

The sky outside was an ominous black, a result of his tumultuous emotions.

Out of nowhere, the doorbell to his home rang. 

Kiyoomi stood, careful not to disturb Motoya as he made his way to the front door.

He opened the door and all of the awful, mind-numbing guilt from before came flooding back, tearing huge, massive hunks of skin, bone, and meat right out of him.

Miya Atsumu stood at his front porch, expression blank and eyes dead. Those eyes that twinkled mischievously at him or crinkled with an honest smile were now hollow, sunken in to a solemn face and shadowed underneath by dark bags. Bloodshot and empty, Kiyoomi could feel the impact of his own words hit him smack in the face, like a long blade. He had made this poor mortal boy this way, sleepless, torn up from the inside out, desolate. It looked so wrong. After only encountering the boy a couple of times, even Kiyoomi had come to know it looked wrong.

"Atsumu—" Kiyoomi started gently.

Instead, Atsumu pointed to his chest.

"You asked me if I saw something," he spoke softly. "Something on your body."

Kiyoomi's heart started to thump so wildly within his chest, he was scared it would burst right out.

"At first I was just tryna be nice," the boy spoke, just a touch broken at the end of the syllable, "I didn't wanna ask in case it still hurt."

The air stuttered to a stop inside Kiyoomi's lungs, hitching painfully at the back of his throat, making the world hazy and dizzy all at once.

With determined eyes of his own, fierce as that of any lion, a fire roared to life in Atsumu's eyes.

Like he had come for retribution. 

Like he had come to end Kiyoomi's life.

"Your heart," the boy, Atsumu, said directly, "I can see it."

Lightning flashed across the blackened sky, not even the boom of residual thunder enough to shake Kiyoomi's core like that revelation.

All at once, rain started to pour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay on this chapter, it's been a long and hard month of exams and school, I hope you all understand.
> 
> In other news, I accidentally posted this chapter when it was half written lol, I'M SORRY MY MIND WAS HALF-BAKED. I'll be careful not to do that again, lol.
> 
> Shameless plug to my Twitter where I post updates on chapters, the occasional head-canon and SPOILERS: [@A_Free_Queen](https://twitter.com/A_Free_Queen)
> 
> If I do something stupid, I'll probably post about it there, lolol.


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